In Limbo
by solveariddle
Summary: Hotch left the BAU to go into business for himself as a personal adviser. Emily Prentiss is one of his clients, hiring him to protect her from anonymous threats. The more Hotch tries to get to the bottom of things, though, the more secrets his client seems to hide until it's a matter of life or death for both of them. AU set some time after Season Five.
1. Prologue

**A/N: **It's been a while that I posted a story for this fandom. When I found the draft on my hard drive, I thought I'd give it another try though. I hope there are still some people out there who are interested in HotLy fics.

Summary: AU set some time after Season Five. Hotch left the BAU to go into business for himself as a personal adviser. Emily Prentiss is one of his clients, hiring him to protect her from anonymous threats. The more Hotch tries to get to the bottom of things, though, the more secrets his client seems to hide until it's a matter of life or death for both of them.

**Disclaimer:** No copyright infringement intended. Criminal Minds is owned by CBS. This is just for fun. I make no money out of it.

* * *

_Prologue_

* * *

The light in the room is harsh. There is no furniture aside from a table and four chairs. A classic interrogation room. They raised the temperature to a slightly uncomfortable level so that the suspect feels as if his guilt makes him sweat.

Save that the man who is sitting in the interrogation room right now knows all the tricks. He had used them himself years ago. Before he left the FBI and stepped down from his position as unit chief of the BAU.

The door opens and two men come in, their dark suits giving away that they are not the police. The Feds are here.

"Mr. Hotchner," one of the men greets him friendly and sits down on the opposite side of the table while the other man remains standing in the background. They don't believe that he will fall for the good cop – bad cop act, do they?

There is no need to ask for his name or his address, not even for his current occupation. They know all that. He left the FBI, but the Bureau tends to keep former employees under surveillance when they choose a similar but unappreciated business as he did. Aaron Hotchner works as a personal adviser these days. At least that's what his name plate says. He is not a private investigator in the proper sense; what he does comes close enough to raise suspicion though. The requirements of his occupation entail a mixture of profiling, advising and investigating. His new job has a remarkable resemblance to his old one.

If someone had asked him during his earlier years with the FBI whether he could imagine leaving the Bureau to pursue another career, he would have denied it vehemently. But that had been before George Foyet, before that unsub hunted him down, stabbed him and went after his family. His son, Jack, survived; his wife didn't. Actually, she was his ex-wife by then, but that was just a question of semantics when you had to bury someone you had loved half of your life.

During the fight for the survival of his son, he killed Gorge Foyet. There was an investigation; his reputation as unit chief was whitewashed. The BAU team wanted him to come back to work. His superior wanted him to retire. He simply wanted out.

There were several job offers, good job offers, indeed. Economy, politics, an internal change of job. It would have meant even more working hours, though, even more time away from his son. A son who was already suffering from nightmares due to the one he had experienced in real life. Therefore, and after careful consideration, he chose to become a personal adviser.

He is his own boss and can decide when he wants to work and when he wants to spend time with his son. His former sister-in-law, Jessica, helps him with Jack, but he doesn't intend to let her bring him up. Since he is not a conventional private investigator, he doesn't have to do the dirty work. No cheating husbands or wives. He has several regular clients, some come and go – all of them want the same. He mostly is hired to check potential associates. It is not unusual that his clients ask him to use his profiling skills and attend one of their business lunches to screen someone. Albeit he is not a profiler anymore, he will never stop thinking or measuring up other people that way. It runs in his blood. Bottom line, it's a safe job. His clients are wealthy and pay their bills on time. No imminent danger. Well, until he met his current client that is. Emily Prentiss.

This latest case has turned his world upside down and is the reason he is sitting here.

Aaron Hotchner isn't worried about himself. He is pretty sure that he will be out of here soon. Unfortunately, he is running out of time. Emily Prentiss wasn't in a good condition when he saw her last and he is worried about her. Very worried. More than he should be about a client. But that's another story.

He resists the urge to show his nervousness because that is what these men are waiting for. They would interpret it as a sign of guilt. And they would be right. He is guilty of what happened – at least partially. Emily Prentiss hired him to find out what and who was behind the strange things that were going on in her life, whether they were plainly annoying or a potential threat. Basically, she hired him to protect her, and by his standards, he failed.

All the worse, he doesn't know who he can trust. Who is involved. Whether these two men who are in the room with him are part of it or not.

Before the agent who is sitting at the table with him can start the interrogation, Hotch insists, "I need to know the whereabouts of Emily Prentiss. Is she alright?"

He doesn't dare to say or ask anything else due to his suspicion, but this he has to know although he doesn't expect an answer. And he doesn't get one. Instead, there is the question he has been anticipating ever since the men entered the room.

"Why did you shoot Derek Morgan?"

There is only one answer to this question – because he had no other choice. The last thing Hotch saw before he was taken into custody was how the paramedics resuscitated Morgan. He had aimed for his shoulder, just had wanted to immobilize him, never had intended to kill him, but at the last moment Morgan had moved unexpectedly. The bullet had hit him in his chest, much too close to his heart. Hotch doesn't want to think of the possibility that he dies. Derek Morgan is more than a former colleague and the current unit chief of the BAU. He is a friend. Hotch considers all members of his former team friends but especially Derek Morgan and David Rossi. They are the only people he trusts right now.

"I want to talk to David Rossi," Hotch says instead of giving the man an answer.

"Then talk to me," he hears the familiar voice as David Rossi comes in. Hotch immediately is relieved. His ally has arrived.

The two agents stare at Rossi hostilely. Apparently, they know who he is, though, and seem to accept that he is in charge. At least for now.

"Dave," the relief in Hotch's voice is evident. "Did you talk to Emily? Did you see her? Is she alright?"

When the older man doesn't answer and avoids eye contact, Hotch starts to wonder what is going on.

"Get me out of here," he urges, anyway.

But when his friend looks at him, Hotch almost flinches from the cold determination in his eyes. He _is_ his ally, isn't he?

"Sorry, I can't do that," Dave says, confirming Hotch's fear. He isn't his ally. He is a traitor.

"What have you done?" Hotch hisses, barely able to suppress his rage. "Where is Emily?"

He jumps up, and from the corner of his eye, he sees the two agents approach him. They grab his arms and push him down on the chair.

This can't be happening. He can't believe it. David Rossi was his last hope that they will get out of this more or less unharmed. Hotch puts up a fight, his fury taking over against better knowledge. He is well aware that this is futile and counterproductive since he already is the suspect and doesn't need to dig an even deeper hole for himself.

Only when he sees the syringe, he realizes that the situation is much worse than he thought.

There is nothing he can do. The more he struggles, the more the men bottle him up, rendering him immobile.

The needle pricks his skin, and shortly after, Hotch feels a weird cold in his veins. The world starts to spin; the last thing he sees is David Rossi and the two agents laughing at him. Then everything goes black.

* * *

_To be continued_


	2. Three is a pair

**A/N: **That was a really nice welcome back, guys! Thanks a lot for your reviews, alerts and support in general. I hope you're not disappointed that the story takes a leap in time backwards first so that you can find out what led to the events in the prologue before it continues from there. And here we go...

**The usual disclaimer applies.**

* * *

_Three is a pair_

* * *

**Three months ago**

It starts with anonymous phone calls. No talking, not even audible breathing. Just silence, and after a brief moment, the line goes dead. No one threatens her. No one harasses her. The only thing slightly bothering her is that she receives the calls on her private cellphone. Its number is unlisted. No more than a handful of people know it. Then again, it could be a random act. Someone who gets off on something like that and just dialed any number. It doesn't seem to be worth the effort to dig deeper.

A few weeks pass by without any incidents and she forgets about it.

Until she receives the packages that is. The first is completely empty. The second contains shreds of paper. Only looking closely, she notices that there is a question mark on each shred. A package full of thousands of question marks. The third is full of cut flowers that are ripped to pieces. She smells them even before she opens the package. Daisies. Her favorite flowers as a child. Eerie. She starts to wonder whether this is conducted by someone who knows her. It is highly unlikely that this is a mere coincidence. The packages have her name and business address on it. Of course, there is no sender. Yet, someone pursues a target and the target is her.

This time she ponders on how to handle the situation, but life is hectic and full of other demands that make the packages take a backseat. Again, several weeks pass by and nothing unusual happens.

Then she receives cards, sent to her business address. No sender. The first card reads _empty;_ the second reads _is_.

Emily Prentiss can't deny any longer that things threaten to spin out of control and instructs her assistant to look for someone who is capable of handling the sensitive situation.

Someone who is discreet and efficient. Someone like Aaron Hotchner.

* * *

**Three weeks ago**

It is standard procedure that Hotch's clients don't come and visit him. Usually a secretary or an assistant calls to make an appointment and he meets them at their office or at their home. He has rented business premises, but he rarely uses them other than for research or paperwork. Actually, he prefers it that way. Meeting his clients in their everyday surroundings gives him the opportunity to get an idea of their personalities. In fact, the first profile, whenever he considers accepting a new job, is always the one of his new client.

When Emily Prentiss' assistant calls, the name sounds vaguely familiar. _Regional policy_, he thinks, _or perhaps commercial size_. He agrees to meet her the following week and lets his assistant, Jacob, run the obligatory background check. His current task will be finished in a few days and his other regular ones, although well-paid, take up only a few hours per week. It's the perfect time for a new client.

Hotch's job mainly is a one-man-show. His clients hire him because of his experience as a profiler and his past as unit chief of the BAU. In addition, there are Jacob, when research is needed, and some other freelancers who he trusts enough to involve temporarily if backing in the field is required.

Jacob is an extremely talented IT student and Penelope Garcia's neighbor. He was looking for an easy way to earn money when she told him that her ex-boss was looking for an assistant. These days, Jacob works for Hotch whenever he doesn't take classes. He is not as good as Garcia, but he comes close. Occasionally Hotch still uses Garcia's exceptional research skills. The BAU team knows it and Morgan, as their unit chief, tolerates it as long as it doesn't interfere with Garcia's work.

The background check on Emily Prentiss reveals that she is a wealthy art dealer and gallery owner. The exhibitions she sets up range from paintings to sculptures. She seems to have an unerring instinct for new artists who are a real zinger and has quite a reputation in this field. Born and raised as an ambassador's daughter, she grew up in several countries and lives in Washington nowadays.

Her gallery as well as her office are, as expected, in one of the most expensive areas in town. When Hotch steps out of the elevator, the reception is the, also expected, understatement that oozes money. Sandstone, bright colors and a receptionist with a polite smile that at least is not as fake as usual. Perhaps Emily Prentiss is a better employer than most people with bright-colored sandstone lobbies.

Hotch has to wait the adequate 10-15 minutes while _Ms. Prentiss is finishing a conference call_, as the receptionist tells him. Then he is led into her office.

Well, office is an understatement. The room is huge. Windows cover the entire exterior wall; aside from an exquisite desk, there is not only a large conference table but also rather comfortable looking arm chairs grouped around a smaller table. Of course, there are also exhibits, paintings and sculptures equally, everywhere. As a whole, the office is impressive – even for someone like Aaron Hotchner. Some people don't have this much space in their apartment. Let alone the lofty style only very few people can afford.

"Mr. Hotchner," Emily Prentiss stands up behind her desk and crosses the room, her hand already put out to bid him welcome. This is a woman who doesn't waste any time on redundancies.

They shake hands. Her smile is downright charming. Something Hotch registers along with the fact that Emily Prentiss is very attractive. He saw some pictures as the result of Jacob's background check, but the vibrating energy that surrounds her makes her even more appealing in person. There is definitely something intriguing about her that goes beyond her looks.

Rich. Successful. Beautiful. Confident. Hotch lets the first impression sink in. Her office, the publicity that comes along with her job, her appearance, the high-end designer clothes and the exceptional jewelry. She has the unobtrusive, yet unmistakably prosperous, appearance of someone for whom wealth is a given. At first sight, she doesn't seem to be the kind of person to show off with it. Nonetheless, it's not difficult to imagine why Emily Prentiss' life could arouse envy. Hotch doesn't know the details as yet, but her assistant told him something about phone calls and unwanted deliveries. Therefore, he has a vague idea.

She offers him a seat at the conference table, implying that this is business and no informal small-talk. After her assistant served coffee and light refreshments, they are alone in the room. The carpet must be a sound-absorbing, custom-built sort because, despite the minimalist furnishing, their voices don't resound while she is telling him about the details. She pauses a few times in between and Hotch senses that the issue makes her uncomfortable beneath her composed demeanor. It doesn't seem to frighten her though.

"My assistant has the packages and cards. I guess you will want to take a closer look," she just ends her narration when, as if on cue, there is a knock at the door. It's her assistant, carefully holding a white envelope between her fingertips.

"There is another one," she whispers.

* * *

_To be continued_


	3. Hell is empty

**A/N: **Wow! Your wonderful reviews keep blowing me away! Thank you so much, guys. Especially for letting me know that Emily and Hotch work as their AU characters since the AU is supposed to be about the setting and not about who they are deep inside. As to who is behind the phone calls etc., sorry, I won't spoil you, but I'll give you this little hint - there is a connection to something that happened on the show. You will find out about it in a couple of chapters and I hope you'll like it.

This chapter continues right where the last one ended. Enjoy!

**The usual disclaimer applies.**

* * *

_Hell is empty_

* * *

Hotch gets a pair of gloves out. Old habits die hard. He doesn't secure evidence on a regular basis these days, but the gloves are still useful from time to time.

With a glance in Emily Prentiss' direction, he makes sure it's okay for her that he opens the envelope, then waits until the assistant is no longer in the room with them. The envelope contains a white card – just as the other cards she described. And just as the other cards, there is only one word written on it. Not handwritten or printed but typed. Rather unusual nowadays. _Hell_.

Hotch hears her snort and can't say whether it's relief or annoyance.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Definitely annoyance. "Empty – is – hell," she quotes the words on the cards in the order she received them and suddenly pales. Within reach, there is a stack of flyers. She hands him one.

"Hell is empty and all the devils are here," she recites as he reads the words on the flyer. "Shakespeare. We chose the first part of the quote for my next exhibition. It's a new artist who creates sculptures that are disturbing or interesting, depending on your perception. The quote seemed to be fitting."

She laughs nervously although she still doesn't appear to be scared. This angers her more than anything else. Hotch's instincts are highly alert though. They might be in her office, at her conference table, but everything about this case screams at him that this is personal. And that it's only the beginning. Let alone the fact that she received the third card just after she had told him about the other two. Coincidence? Or does someone want him, in particular, to take over the case? Is this the egocentric act of a narcissistic personality that is craving for even more attention?

"You have no idea who could be behind this?" he asks.

She shakes her head. _No_. It is obvious. Otherwise, she would have already handled it herself and he wouldn't be here. Emily Prentiss is not the kind of woman to rely on someone else unless it is inevitable. That much he has already learned about her.

"Who knows that I'm here today?" Hotch inquires.

She looks at him surprised but understands his point immediately.

"No one aside from my assistant and myself," she answers. "Do you really think that the delivery date was set on purpose so that you would be here?"

"I don't know," Hotch admits, "but coincidences are rare in cases like these and there is also the fact that someone called you on your unlisted private cellphone."

He lets her assimilate the information and watches the change in her expression. If it is no coincidence, there are only two plausible explanations. Either she is under observation or someone close to her is involved.

She licks her lips. It is the first sign of insecurity he observes.

"I didn't say anything because I have absolutely no proof whether this is true or simply my imagination," she starts hesitatingly, "but I believe that I'm being followed. Not all the time," she adds as if to defend the fact that she didn't mention it before. "Anyway... Sometimes I can feel it, and it is eerie. I thought it was a misperception due to the phone calls and the deliveries but now... I just don't know what to think anymore."

She leans back and the movement wafts over a whiff of her perfume. Her face is an inscrutable mix of doubt and determination and Hotch realizes that he is attracted to her. Some of his clients are beautiful women, but she is different. It's the combination of unflinching strength and controlled weakness. She is good at covering it up. Nevertheless, he notices the tension in her body language, how much she wants to catch this nameless and faceless someone who is behind all this, senses that she feels threatened to a certain extent regardless of the fact that she tries to tell herself that there is nothing to be afraid of. He understands the pressure she is under as a public figure, the need to keep up the facade that everything is fine even if it isn't. Hotch is not the kind of man to fall head over heels in love. There is something about Emily Prentiss, though, that fascinates him. All things considered, it is not the best condition to start a business connection.

"So... what is your usual procedure in cases like these?" she wants to know.

Apparently, she has decided that he is the right man for the job. She doesn't ask about money, how much this will cost her. It doesn't matter. She just wants him to solve the problem.

Hotch knows that it is now or never. If he has qualms about taking on the case, this is the moment to tell her. Once he has agreed to work for a client, he never backs down until the case is closed. It's his personal code of honor. His interest in the case that is unlike any of the cases he worked on before as a personal adviser outweighs his doubts. This is not what he usually does. Somehow, it feels more like a BAU case. Just like in the good old days. Not to mention his interest in this intriguing woman. It takes him only a split second to decide; she probably didn't even notice his hesitation. He nods. They have a deal.

"So far, you haven't been threatened," he states and has to give her credit for not batting an eyelid considering his wording. _So far_. "At this early stage, it is hard to tell what this is about and whether there actually is the possibility of an impending threat or not. What we have, though, is a certain development. First the phone calls, then the packages, and now the cards. This is a clear effort to communicate with you, to tell you something without having to tell you in person. And the facts that you received the calls on your unlisted cellphone and that whoever is behind this knows about the favorite flowers of your childhood indicate a personal motive even if there is also the connection with your exhibition. Let alone that someone may be following you at times. There are a lot of maybes here. It could be a harmless hoax, but experience taught me never to underestimate a situation like this. Therefore, I recommend that you take precautions without attracting attention. Get a new unlisted private cellphone but don't close the old account just in case. Change the locks at the door of your private address but cover it up as repair work. Make sure that you are not alone whenever possible."

She watches him concentrated and nods in approval. Obviously, she shares his estimation and is willing to take measures. Hotch feels certain that she otherwise would tell him in an instant.

He puts the envelope and the card in an evidence bag. Just like the gloves, the evidence bags are still his companions although his resources are limited these days. Checking for fingerprints. Possible. He has some contacts and there is always Garcia when the going gets rough. Checking for DNA. Not really. Something only authorities can do. Once he asked Morgan to do it. But that was an exception and can't happen on a regular basis. He has accepted that there is a point at which he might have to turn over one of his cases to the police or even the FBI. Well, he has never reached that point as yet, always was able to solve his cases by himself. Hotch has never handled a case like this before though. And he is aware how dangerous these kind of cases can get. They both avoid the word _stalking_, but it is in the wind, unspoken. He knows that she is thinking of it, too.

"Ms. Prentiss, I need to be honest with you." He gives her a summary of his capabilities. That he will check for fingerprints but won't be able to check for DNA. That he will try to trace back the phone calls she received and examine the videos of the lobby for anything suspicious. In fact, Jacob will do all this with Garcia's help if need be. "I just want you to know that I'm not the police and that the police has more capabilities to investigate a case like this," Hotch eventually ends his remarks.

Save that the police usually doesn't investigate a case like this unless there is a real threat. More than wordless phone calls, harmless packages and cryptic cards. Perhaps Emily Prentiss has contacts or her prosperity leads to a preferential treatment even if it shouldn't and even if he doubts that she is the kind of person who would want this. It doesn't matter, anyway. Hotch can see it in her face that she isn't exactly eager to go to the next police station and press charges against a person unknown. The police can't guarantee her discretion. He can.

"I understand," she says, "but I think you are fully qualified to handle this. And I prefer to handle it discreetly and not within the scope of an official investigation." There it is. Discretion. The magic word. In this respect, she is no different than his other clients. Only easier on the eyes.

The last obstacle is removed. Their cooperation starts now. She will get a new cellphone, change the locks at her door, and he has to find out who is behind it before the situation escalates even more.

"I need all your addresses and phone numbers, work-related as well as private, so that I can contact you wherever and whenever," he states and watches her flinch slightly. Privacy is apparently very important to her, and this – giving all required data to a stranger – must feel like an intrusion, but she composes herself quickly.

"My assistant will provide you with it before you leave." She must have screened him beforehand and think that he is trustworthy; that much is for sure. Otherwise, she would never hand this kind of sensitive information over to him.

"One more thing," Hotch adds. "It would be really helpful if you came up with a list of names. Who knows daisies were your favorite flowers as a child? Who knows or could have possibly found out the unlisted number of your private cellphone? Who benefits from a failure of your next exhibition? Who might want to irritate or harass you?"

There has to be a hidden drawer underneath the conference table because she pulls a piece of paper out of nowhere. It's a list of names with additional notes. Now, that's what he calls being prepared. He recognizes the name of her assistant. Good. She concentrated on the facts and didn't pre-eliminate people she trusts or at least thinks she can trust. Evidently, life taught her that there are times when you can trust no one. Hotch's respect for this woman and how she handles the situation strengthens even more.

"I thought this would be helpful," she explains. "I considered everything you said. Well, except for the connection with my next exhibition because I didn't know that until a few moments ago. I will think about it and let you know what names to add."

Hotch scans the list. He is looking for a certain note next to one of the names but doesn't find it. From Jacob's research he knows that there is a significant other in her life although she isn't married and never was. Jacob couldn't spy out the name though. There only were a few blurry photos on the internet; her need for privacy obviously prevented more details from becoming common knowledge.

"No offense," he says and pretends to still study the list even if he already has come to the conclusion that there is no note next to a name with the content he is looking for. "But is there someone special in your life? Husband? Boyfriend? I'm sorry, but I have to ask for the sake of completeness."

She looks at him and raises an eyebrow. Then she leans forward and writes down another name. _Clive Bellows_. When she leans back again and their eyes meet, her gaze is almost challenging. Hotch is aware that she is convinced there is nothing he will find out about this man that she doesn't already know. Most likely she ran a background check before she got involved with him. But Hotch always finds out something about the people in the lives of his clients they didn't know before. Somehow, he wishes that it will be different this time. Even though he just met her, he doesn't want to be the one who has to bring her bad news.

Only when she pushes back her chair and stands up, he realizes that their meeting is adjourned rather abruptly. Perhaps she has another appointment. Perhaps he crossed a line with his insistence and she wants to put him in his place.

"Mr. Hotchner," her smile is polite and inscrutable, the skin of her outstretched hand soft and warm. "I'm looking forward to seeing the first results of your investigation."

"Call me Aaron," he responds. "All my clients call me Aaron. It makes things easier." A lie. Some clients call him by his first name but by far not all of them. And he never offers a new client to be on a first name basis that early during a cooperation. Frankly, his reaction surprised himself. What is it about this woman that makes him want to break through her invisible wall of distance and get closer to her?

"Well," she hesitates briefly but long enough to make him realize that she considered refusing his offer. Then she decides to accept it, anyway, "In that case, call me Emily."

They are standing next to the conference table. Despite their friendly and professional demeanor, the admittance of the unpredictable situation and the exchange of information about her significant other noticeably cooled down the atmosphere. Hotch reaches for the list of names to pocket it. When he looks at Emily, he catches her unguarded gaze just before she puts up her shield again. It's only the split of a second, but he sees something in her eyes that sends a chill down his spine. Something that goes way beyond the concern that he might reveal the one or other dirty secret her boyfriend is keeping from her and makes him wonder what she didn't tell him. All the same, he senses that this is not the time to ask her about it although it worries him.

The profiler in him looked one time too many into the abyss and that is exactly what he saw in her eyes. A sadness and desperation so deep that you get lost in it once you allow the pull to devour you. Hotch can feel it. The pull. He is drawn to her as if it is a force of nature whereas his profiling instincts tell him to stay away from her because there is danger ahead. But it is too late. He already agreed to take on the case. And he doesn't back down. Ever. Let alone that he doesn't want to.

"We'll be in touch, Emily," he can't resist to say her name even though the closeness it suggests doesn't exist between them. Yet.

She simply nods in response, and it doesn't take a profiler to notice that she deliberately avoids to address him directly.

_Well, goodbye then, Aaron_, Hotch thinks sardonically.

Even in the elevator, he still can smell her perfume and he doesn't know whether it is the scent of seduction or the bait of evil.

* * *

_To be continued_


	4. All the devils are here

**A/N:** Thank you, as always, for your reviews and alerts. They really make my day.

**The usual disclaimer applies.**

* * *

_All the devils are here_

* * *

The opening of the exhibition is a complete success. By late evening the gallery is still full of people who are enjoying themselves and admiring the sculptures – or at least eying them curiously. Hotch is no philistine, but the demonic creatures give him the creeps. Reminding him of gargoyles, they are exhibited on pedestals, lightning and placement creating the perfect illusion that the intense gaze of their grotesque faces follows everyone everywhere.

_Hell is empty._ The quote is written in huge letters on banners outside and inside of the gallery. A fitting motto, indeed.

Hotch watches Emily Prentiss as she walks across the gallery with a seemingly effortless elegance, despite her high heels and tight, full-length dress, that comes from a lot of practice. This is her playing field. This is what she does. Enthralling people with her savoir vivre and beauty likewise. One could almost say she is able to cast a spell on others. Right now, she is talking to an older man who seems to be very interested in one of the sculptures. Obviously a potential buyer. As far as Hotch can tell, the exhibition is a success at this early stage already – not only socially but also monetary.

This woman has many layers, the friendly, professional business woman being only one of them. Their cooperation started two weeks ago. Hotch remembers how he visited her a couple of days later to tell her about the result of his research regarding the anonymous phone calls.

* * *

"_The calls were made from a phone booth near your office," he told her, and she looked away the split of a second too late. When she looked at him again, feigning interest, he knew._

"_You already knew that," Hotch stated with barely suppressed anger. "Is this some kind of test? I hope you are aware that you are wasting your money and my time."_

_At least she had the decency to be slightly embarrassed that she had been caught._

"_I'm sorry, Mr. Ho... Aaron," Emily corrected herself, and somehow, this slip made him even angrier. "You might call me a control freak, but it is a habit of mine to spot-check the results of the people I work with although I should have known that with your reputation there would be nothing to find."_

_Hotch was aware that she had added the last part only by courtesy. Beneath the beautiful and charming facade, Emily Prentiss is a calculating negotiating partner who for sure learned to trust but verify. In a way, he understood. Nevertheless, neither of his clients had done anything like that before. She was definitely complex and a challenge. _

_From then on, their interaction was solely formal. Not that they had been familiar before, but Hotch took her behavior as a hint that she wanted to keep the distance and respected it. Their following contacts occurred via phone or mail. He checked the names on her list and informed her in between about the interim results (only dead ends as yet). As far as he could tell, there were no more spot-checks. _

_He still was attracted to her, but he tried to ignore it even if he had to admit that her unapproachable behavior fascinated him even more._

* * *

Loud laughter brings Hotch back to the here and now. It's almost midnight, and yet, the opening of the exhibition is in full swing. He scans the crowd and catches Emily's brief glance in his direction just before she turns around and mixes with the guests.

She received no more cards, packages or anonymous phone calls. By now, he checked each name on the list with inconclusive results. No relevant fingerprints on the cards or packages either. Run-of-the-mill material. No useful trace at all. They have to talk about how to continue. Whether she wants to leave it at that, considering nothing else happened, or wants him to proceed. Nonetheless, Hotch didn't want to take a risk and brought two of his freelancers with him tonight because the quote on the cards Emily received indicated that there is a connection to this exhibition. They blend into the crowd and most likely will not be needed. He feels better, though, knowing he is prepared – just in case.

Hotch still doesn't know what to think of her. Sometimes the thought crosses his mind that there should be only one name on the list – hers. There is something about her he can't classify. Hotch gathered a lot of information about Emily Prentiss during his first visit and the following interaction but compared to the profiles of his other clients (and some of them he actually wrote down and added them to their file), her profile is half-blank. There are too many blind spots; she remains a mystery to him. At least for now.

Suddenly, Hotch receives a message of one of the freelancers over the radio, "Mr. Hotchner, there is an incident at the back entrance."

He immediately responds that he will come over and moves quickly through the crowd without attracting attention. At the back entrance, his men hold down a young man who is complaining and trying to wriggle out of their grip.

"I just wanted to see her," he repeats over and over.

"He tried to get in through the back door without an invitation. His name is Jason Burns."

One of his freelancers shows him the man's ID, adding to Hotch's first impression that this is not their man. _Suspect_, he actually thought like in earlier days. Aside from the fact that it would be plain stupid to bring his ID, this man obviously lacks the required organization needed for the earlier occurrences.

"Take his personal data, photo and fingerprints. Then let him go," Hotch orders, anyway, before he turns around to go back into the gallery.

"Hey, you can't do that," the man complains, but Hotch already has gotten lost in the shuffle.

He let Emily Prentiss out of his sight for a couple of minutes merely. She was in the middle of the gallery when he walked to the back entrance. Safe among the crowd. It was a necessary, calculated risk to check what happened outside without endangering her too much in return. Save that she seems to be gone.

Concern mixed with anger floods through Hotch. Where is she? Did something happen to her? Was the man a deliberate diversionary tactic? His men are still outside so he has to take care of this alone. He scans the gallery for a glimpse of her black hair, her silky dress or the sound of her infectious laughter. Just when he thinks she actually is gone, he catches a glimpse of her shutting the door to the basement behind her. Oh, she has got to be kidding.

Of course, Hotch checked the construction plans of the building before the exhibition took place. There is a huge basement below the gallery. Many rooms. Many corridors. Ideal for storing art between exhibitions, but a logistic nightmare when it comes to safety. So they agreed that the door to the basement would be locked when the exhibition started and remain locked to its end. In fact, it was locked when Hotch checked right before the opening. Apparently, Emily Prentiss decided, though, that it not only was a good idea to leave his reach but also to frequent the area he considers most dangerous because there are no surveillance cameras.

He follows her unobtrusively. When the heavy door snaps shut, it is almost silent, music and conversations only remote, muffled sounds.

Hotch stands still and listens, but he hears nothing and decides to go downstairs quietly instead of calling out Emily's name. He is aware that he is spying on his own client right now. Unfortunately, and ridiculous as it is, it seems to be necessary.

When he reaches the end of the stairs, the corridors are radially arranged, each one leading into a suffocating darkness. Hotch still can't believe that she went down here of her own accord.

Again, he listens concentrated and thinks he heard something to his right, stepping into the hallway. After a few steps, there is a turn. By now, he is definitely hearing something. A whisper. No, _two whispers_. A man and a woman. Whispered voices, somewhere in the dark, somewhere behind the turn.

* * *

_To be continued_


	5. Voices in the dark

**A/N: **This chapter starts right where the last one ended. It's really short, I know, but I hope you don't mind since I wanted to continue with the story. Thank you for reading &amp; reviewing. It's very much appreciated.

**The usual disclaimer applies.**

* * *

_Voices in the dark_

* * *

Hotch stops and tries to concentrate harder to understand the words, but all he catches are a few scraps of the whispered conversation.

_Are you sure...?_

_Really dead...?_

_Can't risk..._

The voices get more and more agitated but at the same time even quieter so that Hotch eventually isn't able to understand anything anymore and decides to blow his cover. He coughs slightly and says her name as if he was looking for her, what he actually would be if he hadn't already found her and spied on her.

"Emily?"

The whispering stops abruptly; someone shuffles his or her feet before Emily comes round the corner.

"What are you doing here?" she asks him surprised and annoyed.

"Well, I could ask you the same," Hotch responds. "Didn't we agree that the basement is too dangerous and that the door was supposed to be locked?"

"I'm sorry. I needed something." She genuinely seems to be sorry and presents a small piece of art. "A potential buyer asked for this one as an accessory part for one of the sculptures. I didn't want to risk losing the deal so I went to get it." Emily steps closer and touches his arm. "I'm sorry. Now, that I think about it, I realize that it was stupid and perhaps even reckless. I should have told you. I'm used to make business without having to consider possible threats in the basement."

Her words sound honest albeit a little too apologetic and her face is unreadable as always. Emily's hand touches his arm; she holds his gaze without even blinking. She is so close that the scent of her perfume reaches his nostrils. Hotch realizes that it is the same perfume he smelled when he met her for the first time. It must be one of her favorites. For a brief moment, her sweet scent and their closeness distract him and Hotch wonders if she is aware of the effect she has on him and uses it deliberately.

"I heard whispering," he confronts her, regretting by now that, out of respect for her as his client, he didn't walk round the corner to find out whether she was alone or not as he still suspects. "Was there someone down here with you?" Time to stop the hide-and-seek game.

But instead of the expected reaction – guilt or at least bewilderment – there is a smile on her face. Emily pulls at his arm and leads him round the corner until they are standing under a louver.

"Listen," she simply says.

At first he hears nothing but then... voices... whispers... he can even make out some words. Somehow, the conversations from the gallery can be heard down here, at least an eerie, whispered version of it.

"It's an old building," Emily explains with a smile. Behind her, Hotch notices a room with dozens of art pieces. The room from where she obviously got the small piece she is holding in her hand right now.

"You're forgiven," she says, getting even closer to him so that she can breathe the words in his ear. Again, she is a distraction to all of his senses.

Emily steps back and the distracting, yet wonderful (although he wouldn't admit it), moment is over. They turn around, about to go upstairs. Emily is a few steps in front of him when Hotch discovers something on the filthy ground. It is almost undetectable, but he saw it, anyway, even if he almost wishes he didn't because he finally believed her. Fresh footprints of a man. So he was right after all. Someone was down here with her. And the entire arm touching, ear whispering, and getting much too close distraction was on purpose.

With one quick stride Hotch catches up with Emily and grabs her arm, turning her around in the process.

"You weren't alone down here," he accuses her.

She doesn't even flinch. There is no visible reaction in her face at all.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she responds. Calm. Composed. Ice-cold. "I explained to you that the voices are..."

"These are footprints of a man," Hotch states, gesturing at the floor. He walked around them so that they are still, even if not easily, recognizable.

Emily looks at them or at least pretends to do so. Then she looks back at him.

"Do you know how many people come down here every day?" she asks, very annoyed by now as if he tests her patience without any reason. If this really is an act, she is brilliant.

"If so many people come down here every day, why are there only your footprints and the footprints of a man visible in the dust?" Hotch asks.

"And yours," she adds, crossing her arms in front of her chest as a sign that her patience is running out. "And certainly footprints of other people, too, if we took a closer look." Emily tilts her head back. "Do you distrust me? Because if you do, perhaps we should think about ending our cooperation."

It's rare that people outsmart Aaron Hotchner, but she just did. Emily knows that he doesn't want to stop working for her, with her, whatever, knows by now that he is interested in her as a woman and not only as a client, no matter what just happened. If she wanted to end their cooperation, she simply would have said so.

Their eyes meet in a staring contest. Neither of them is willing to give in. It is supposed to be about power and anger. Yet, all Hotch feels is the incredible intensity that surrounds her. If he had only one word to describe her, it would be this one – intense. After a brief moment, he releases his grip on her arm and Emily turns around wordlessly, going back to the gallery, not bothering whether Hotch follows her or not. He does.

For the rest of the evening, they don't talk anymore. She continues to be the perfect entertainer for her guests and he watches her from a distance. Hotch is aware by now that the biggest threat to his assignment – making sure that nothing happens to Emily Prentiss – is his client herself. Considering what happened, there are only two logical conclusions – either Emily is actually completely unaware of what he was talking about or she has a lot more to hide than he fears, and moreover, is a professional in hiding things from others.

* * *

_To be continued_


	6. Dead End

**A/N: **Here is the next chapter. It is a lot of fun to write this story and read your lovely reviews. Thank you so much for your support.

**The usual disclaimer applies.**

* * *

_Dead End_

* * *

It's been three days that Hotch confronted Emily in the basement. Three days that she lied to him. Or not. That he believed her. Or not.

Hotch still doesn't know who is behind everything – the phone calls, packages and cards. Neither research nor pulling a few strings has been successful. It remains a closed book. He needs instructions whether she wants to continue their cooperation or not, given the circumstances, but Emily Prentiss doesn't answer or return his calls.

It's difficult to make sense out of it. Is she simply busy or deliberately ignoring him because of what happened in the basement? Either way, Hotch is not the kind of person to bill inaction; he needs to clear things up.

Therefore he decided to see her today after the day before had ended with no new insights again. It was planned to be a regular business meeting. At least that had been the plan _before_ breakfast and _before_ he read the newspaper and saw the headline. Right now, on his way to his client, it looks as if this will end in another confrontation. Somehow, nothing that involves this woman seems to proceed in a normal way. Hotch is barely able to suppress his anger. When he confronted her in the basement, he suspected she has a secret she doesn't want to tell him about. That would be bad enough but nothing personal. This time, he feels betrayed. This time, it _is_ personal.

* * *

Her assistant greets him friendly as Hotch arrives at Emily Prentiss' office. She knows who he is by now. However, he has to make appointments like anyone else. Those are the rules. Rules he can't stick to today. Won't. He simply walks past the assistant into Emily Prentiss' office.

"Mr. Hotchner... Wait! You can't go in there! She is in a meeting."

He hears the assistant's voice behind him. The angrier Hotch is, the calmer he becomes or at least appears to be. When he walked past the assistant, nodding to her politely, she didn't sense his mood, didn't expect him to ignore her, and that got him the head start he needed to reach the door to Emily Prentiss' office and open it.

Hotch wouldn't exactly call what takes place a _meeting_. When he opens the door, Emily is standing in the middle of her office, her back to the door, all but yelling at a man who is standing across from her in front of the huge glass front. She didn't hear Hotch come in because he didn't knock, only realizes he is there when she notices the irritation on the man's face and hears the voice of her assistant behind her.

"Ms. Prentiss, I'm so sorry. He just walked past me."

Her assistant is obviously embarrassed by the situation. Hotch can't blame her. He only caught half of a sentence when he opened the door, but it was enough to tell him that Emily and the man had been right in the middle of a heated argument before he barged in. And their body language tells him that it was a personal argument.

_If you can't accept that, then I don't think there is much left to talk about._ That's what she said to the man and that's what Hotch heard. Emily composes herself when she realizes Hotch is there and she manages to do so quickly. However, he saw a variety of emotions flicker on her face before she shows him her usual pokerface – hurt, directed at the man she was talking to, as well as surprise and anger, directed at him because he walked into her office regardless of what he was interrupting.

"It's okay," she tells her assistant. "You can leave."

"What is it?" she then addresses Hotch uncharacteristically rude.

Emily doesn't introduce the man to Hotch or vice versa. He already knows who it is, anyway. The man Hotch only knew so far from blurry pictures they had found as part of the research on his client. Her significant other, Clive Bellows. His background check came up with nothing. No matter what their argument is about; this man has no skeleton in the closet. You could call it irony of fate. For once Hotch doesn't have to bring bad news to a client regarding a loved one and here she is having found bad news herself to argue with him like that. He has not come by to discuss her private life though. That is none of his business.

"I need to talk to you and since you're not returning any of my phone calls...," Hotch starts to explain why he stopped by, withholding the discovery he made over breakfast for now.

"_Two_ phone calls," she cuts in, her anger about the interruption not subsiding in the least. "And that was only yesterday. I was busy. Sorry that I didn't call you back immediately. I thought _I_ was _your_ client and not the other way round. If it was _that_ _important_, you could have left a message."

She is angry but also right.

He could have left a message, could have offered her that he wouldn't bill the next two or three days, because there is nothing else he can do, and wait for her to contact him so that they could have discussed whether to continue or end their collaboration. That's what he would have done if she were any other client. But she's not. However much Hotch tells himself that this is a business meeting and that Emily's private life has nothing to do with him, the lines are getting blurry. He wanted to see her in person or at least hear her voice and when she kind of denied him both, the headline was the final touch to make him snap. Impatience, at least to this extent, is not one of his regular character traits. Seems as if Emily Prentiss brings out the worst of him.

"Perhaps we should continue this later, Em," Clive says, apparently tired to simply stand by.

And indeed, she turns around to look at him so abruptly as if she forgot that he is still there.

"Yes, we should," she agrees.

They don't say goodbye; Bellows just leaves as Emily takes a few steps away from Hotch so that she is standing behind her desk, demonstrating that, no matter what Hotch witnessed, this is a formal meeting. She doesn't sit down, doesn't want to give him the benefit of being able to look down at her.

"So what is it you have to talk to me about?" she asks.

Hotch's anger diminished when he realized that he had barged into a personal argument but now that he remembers why he is here, it is back with full force. He throws the newspaper he has brought along on her desk.

"Have you seen the article? The headline?" he hisses.

The way the newspaper is lying on her desk, the headline is visible. _Exhibition becomes reality – gallery owner goes through her own Shakespearean hell. _The article describes what has been happening during the last months – the calls, packages and cards – and draws a parallel between exhibition and real life.

Emily sighs and eventually sits down.

"Yes, I saw it."

"Imagine my surprise when I found out that the article includes detailed descriptions of the sculptures that are exhibited, including their price. Now, I am no marketing expert, but it doesn't take an expert to know that an article like that is beneficial to business. It makes an eerie exhibition even eerier and people even more willing to spend money on the sculptures."

When he read the article, Hotch was convinced that Emily Prentiss, rogue businesswoman, has been playing him false, that she staged the entire scenario for publicity reasons and to pull in sales. Her current expression, though, casts doubts on whether his assumption is true.

"Was it just a PR move?" he asks. The facts say yes whereas her face says no.

Emily lets her gaze dwell some more on his face; then she slowly shakes her head. "It wasn't me. It was my over-ambitious PR manager. He apparently believed I would promote him for that idea. Well, I fired him instead, but the damage is done."

"Save that it is no real damage," Hotch can't help it.

"No," she admits. "Monetary-wise it was, in fact, a clever move. But for a start, I don't agree with this kind of PR; I believe art has to speak for itself. Plus, I didn't want the world to know what was happening. I obviously was mistaken, thinking that the handful of people on my team who knew about the incidents were trustworthy. At least only my personal assistant knows about your role in all of that. So you weren't mentioned." It's true; he wasn't. A circumstance Hotch realizes only now.

He sits down in front of her desk. It feels as if a truce has been called. This time, Hotch has no doubts that she is telling the truth because it fits her profile. He should have considered that before he prejudged her. Emily knew nothing about the article.

"Sorry that I barged in and prejudged the situation before talking to you," he apologizes and she nods her approval. Being a business woman, Emily Prentiss is aware that bearing grudges is a waste of energy. "So what do we do now? My research has come to a dead end. That's why I called you in the first place. I don't know what else I could do for you," Hotch makes a pause. "Unless something else happens. I hope that won't occur, but the article might serve as a trigger."

Emily raises her eyebrows, leaning back in her office chair to let his words sink in. Evidently, she hasn't considered that possibility as an outcome of the publication so far. The silence between them is tense. Either things will get worse or their collaboration will be over soon. Hotch doesn't want _something else_, whatever it would be, to happen, but he also can't imagine to never see her again.

"Everything okay?" he asks. The words are out of his mouth before he can think it over. It is obvious that he refers to the entire situation that includes the article as well as her earlier argument with Clive Bellows. "Sorry, I don't want to be intrusive," Hotch backpedals.

To his surprise, she doesn't rebuke him though. Instead, she smiles bleakly, her expression getting softer despite the circumstances that are unpleasant for her personally as well as business-related. For a brief moment, Hotch catches a glimpse of her sensitivity and vulnerability. It makes her even more beautiful in his eyes. He realizes that no matter how successful she is, how many business partners and friends she has, whether she is happy with her significant other or not – deep down Emily Prentiss is a very lonely woman. Something he can relate to.

"Yes, everything's fine," she responds. It is a lie, but she doesn't bother to pretend it's not, trusting him not to call her out on it. Then she straightens herself. "I offer you half of what I usually pay you to stand by for the rest of the week. If nothing else happens, that is that."

It's a fair offer. Let alone that it allows them to remain client and adviser for a little while longer. "OK," Hotch agrees.

Something has changed between them, the following silence no longer tense but almost comfortable. The intercom breaks the silence, the voice of her assistant announcing the next appointment. Hotch immediately stands up and bids good bye. After his previous interruption, he doesn't intend to mess her schedule up any further. When he walks out, he can't help the feeling that she might have wanted him to stay. There is a first for everything.

* * *

_To be continued_


	7. Blood

**A/N: **It's been a while since I updated this story last, actually more than a year. That has never happened before and I'm really sorry. I know what it feels like to wait for updates that never come. However, I hope that not everyone has given up on this story by now and that some of you are still interested in finding out how it continues.

For the setting of the story please read the A/N of the prologue. So far Hotch's investigation has been unsuccessful, but he is very intrigued by his client, Emily Prentiss, and in this chapter the situation sharpens.

**The usual disclaimer applies.**

* * *

_Blood_

* * *

After he had visited Emily, Hotch was too energized to simply call it a day and go home. Since it is one of the days Jessica takes care of Jack, he decided to go to his office and do some paperwork instead. When he eventually shuts down the computer and turns off the light to go home, it's already dark outside. He consults his watch. It's after 10 PM. Obviously he had more energy left than he had expected. He missed Jack's bedtime. A twinge of guilt floods through Hotch. He will make it up to him over the weekend.

On the way to his car, Hotch's phone rings. It's Emily Prentiss. At this hour, this does not bode well.

"I hope I don't interfere with your evening plans." Her voice is polite but strained. Something is going on.

"No," he is eager to assure her. "I am on my way home, but I already missed my son's bedtime. What happened?"

There is a brief pause. Then, "Could you come over?"

"To your office?"

"No. To my apartment."

Now that's an interesting turn of events. "Of course. Do you mind me asking what is going on?"

Another pause. "I'll show when you're here." With this, she hangs up.

Hotch is worried although she didn't sound afraid. Concerned, yes, but no more. He wonders what it takes to actually scare her.

* * *

The concierge already had been informed that Emily Prentiss would have a visitor at this late hour. After Hotch produced his ID, he showed him the way.

Hotch doesn't know what to expect when she opens the door, and as usual, her facial expression gives away nothing. The moment he enters her living room, he sees it though. There is a pentagram on the floor that was painted in blood. At least that's what it looks like. Hotch darts a glance at Emily and then back at the pentagram. How can she be so composed after she found that?

"Did you call the police?"

"No." She shakes her head. "I wanted to show it to you first." So he was right. She is concerned but not scared, handling the situation as she always acts – with circumspection and an air of superiority. "There is more," she adds, turning around.

Hotch follows her into the bathroom. The red in the bathtub is a sharp contrast to the white tiles and equally white interior of the room. It looks as if the entire bathtub has been filled with blood. There is no body, though, no visible source as to where the blood could have come from. Hotch steps closer and takes a deep breath.

"I don't think this is blood," he states. "Blood has a distinctive, metallic smell that is lacking here." Leading him to believe that the pentagram also wasn't painted in blood. That improves the situation a bit, at least regarding the fact that they most likely won't find a body somewhere in her apartment.

"Yes," Emily agrees without further ado, causing Hotch to contemplate whether she means _yes_ as in she believes his estimation or _yes_ as in she already had ascertained that herself before she called him. And if the latter is true, how does she know things like that?

He needs to find out, but first he has to make sure that she is safe, at least for the time being, and call the police. The threats against her have definitely reached a new level regarding the what as well as the where. It is the first time something happened in her private space. The blood might be fake, but the message is loud and clear. _Take me seriously or something else will happen._ Plus the threats are not clean and meticulously orchestrated as the ones she received before. This is a mess, the deed of someone in a rage – possibly about the article Emily Prentiss' PR manager released without her consent. Which still leaves the question how the offender got into her apartment, considering there is a concierge downstairs and security locks on her door. Then again, where there's a will, there's a way. Hotch is dead certain there will be traces that the locks were picked, once they take a closer look, even if there is no obvious evidence. And anybody can sneak past a concierge, provided you muster enough patience or come up with a disguise that inspires confidence. He will check the videotaping and talk to the concierge later.

"I am going to check your apartment and call the police," Hotch informs her.

"I already checked the apartment," she tells him without batting an eyelash. "There is no one here anymore." If Emily Prentiss was any other woman, Hotch would check her apartment another time just to be sure. As it is, he simply files the information away under all things Emily Prentiss he doesn't understand as yet. By now, it has gotten awfully crowded in that drawer and there is no end in sight.

"OK." He nods. "Then I'm calling the police." But just as he gets his phone out to make the call, he feels her touch on his arm.

"Wait," she tells him, but he won't have it. Enough is enough.

"Emily," he insists. "I understand that you want to maintain a low profile and don't want to involve official authorities. However, this is way beyond anonymous phone calls. You have to press charges so that there can be an official investigation. I don't want it to be _your blood_ in the bathtub the next time." Hotch deliberately chooses harsh words to bring home the message; despite everything she seems to underestimate the danger she is in.

Or not. "I know." Her voice is hushed but level-headed, oozing determination but not without an appropriate amount of awareness of the situation. Somehow their roles are reversed since she is the one trying to calm him down. Shouldn't it be the other way round? "This is an intrusion into my privacy and I won't accept that. But there is something you haven't seen as yet." Her hand is still on his arm. She squeezes it gently, holding his gaze. _Please. _

Hotch nods. "Show me." He doesn't make the call, but he also doesn't put the phone down, his decision to involve the police postponed, not discarded.

They walk back into her living room, the pentagram on the floor a discord in the middle of otherwise beautifully arranged furnishings. Emily Prentiss' home matches her office when it comes to style and elegance. It definitely is much more comfortable though. A home. Only now, Hotch realizes that he didn't expect that. Well, he expected the elegance and tastefulness, albeit not the comfort, not to feel at ease being here in spite of the circumstances. Who is that woman? What other layer of herself will she show him only to hide it again the moment he catches a glimpse of it?

Opposite to the pentagram, there is a photograph pinned to the wall. Hotch walked into the room through the other door before so that he didn't see it. Emily approaches the photograph hesitatingly. Hotch stands behind her, waiting for her to tell him. Her behavior leaves no doubt that whoever was in her apartment, also left that photograph. Judging by clothes and lighting, it is an old photograph. It shows one girl and two boys at the age of approximately fifteen. The girl is standing in the middle; they put their arms around their shoulders, smiling into the camera. Best friends. At that age you believe this is how it is going to be forever. The girl has long, black hair. It's no wild guess that it is Emily.

"That's me and my two best friends when I was fifteen," she confirms Hotch's assumption. Something in her voice has changed. _Affection_, he decides. But there is something else – _remorse_. Just when Hotch starts to wonder why she would feel remorse, the understanding hits him. _Me and my two best friends._

"Three," he says thoughtfully. "Everything happened in threes. The phone calls, the packages, the cards. Even this – pentagram, bathtub and photo. And here you are with your two friends."

It is a first trace. Hotch has no idea where it will lead to, but the revelation that the threats are most likely about something that happened decades ago makes it all the more dangerous. Whoever is behind this has been holding a grudge against Emily Prentiss the entire time and has been waiting for the right moment to take revenge. An organized psychopath on the verge of lunacy. It raises Hotch's hackles. That characteristic comes as close to the existence of evil as possible. Some even say that there are people who are born evil, that it's in their genes. Hotch avoids those kind of discussions because they lead nowhere. However, his body reacts the way it always does when he is confronted with that kind of suspect – his fight-or flight response sets in. And since there is no one here to fight against, he wants to leave Emily's apartment and take her with her, get away from the influence of evil that seems to poison the air they breathe in. Save that he can't. He needs to find out about the story behind this picture first because it is related to the case and he needs to know in what way before he can decide what will be the responsible thing to do next.

"Oh my God," Emily whispers when the realization sinks in. _Everything happened in threes._ She takes a step back, away from the photo, and turns around. Hotch sees the fear in her eyes. Not necessarily for herself but for her friends. So this is what it takes to scare her – a threat against the people she loves.

"Tell me about the photo," he demands.

She does. It is not a happy story although similar stories probably are being told all over the world at the same time. Emily had two best friends. One of them became more than that. She got pregnant, and all of a sudden, she only had one best friend left, namely the one she hadn't fallen in love with. He was the one who stood by her side when she had the abortion. No one aside from her and the two boys knew. Having a baby at that young age was out of the question. They lived in Rome, Italy. Emily's mother was a diplomat, and considering the conservative circles she socialized with, it would have been a scandal and would have ended her career.

They are sitting next to each other on her couch. Hotch put the phone down.

"I confessed my sin to a priest," Emily says and stops, aware of what she just said. She looks at him. "At least that's what I believed it was back then. A sin. And no matter what I believe today, sometimes it still feels that way." Her eyes are a dark sea of pain. What happened still haunts her to this day. The child that was never meant to be.

She swallows and looks down. "But instead of absolving me, the priest cursed me. He told me I would never find happiness in life, never have a family. And that, on top of that, one day I would be punished for what I did." Emily snorts and shakes her head. "Even if it was creepy, I didn't believe it back then and I don't believe it now, but seeing the photo... There has to be a connection, don't you think?"

"Yes, I do," Hotch agrees. One thing is for sure. Hotch won't call the police. Considering the possible international entanglement, let alone the possibility that the Vatican is involved since it happened in Rome, this is no case for the local police. And no case he can handle on his own, given his limited resources. Hotch will call the BAU and ask Derek Morgan to take the case. "Tell me the names of the priest and of your two friends."

Hotch is on the phone for a while, explaining the details to his ex-colleague and friend Morgan. Derek is used to calls like this, in the middle of the night. He agrees to take the case, but they are on their way back from another case and won't arrive until the next morning. They will meet then so that Morgan can examine the crime scene and they can talk about how to proceed. Morgan plans to bring David Rossi along. Despite the circumstances, Hotch looks forward to seeing his two friends again. The time delay is unfortunate. However, Hotch wouldn't trust anyone else with a scenario like this.

When he hangs up, he notices Emily standing at the door, an overnight bag at her feet.

"So this was your old team?" He nods. "And you trust them?" He nods again. "Good." She grabs the bag. "I'm not sleeping here," Emily announces.

This doesn't come as a surprise. Since the BAU team will only be able to take a look at the crime scene the next morning, she can't have her apartment cleaned. It's not alone about the fake blood. It's about the thought what else whoever was in here touched. She won't sleep in her bed until fresh linen will be put on it and the rest of her apartment will have been scoured.

Hotch can't let her leave on her own though. "Where do you want to go?" he asks. Then it crosses his mind that he probably doesn't have to accompany her because someone else will. "Or, um, will Mr. Bellows come over to pick you up?"

A shadow flits across her face before she straightens herself. "No, we're not... We're not together anymore. I will sleep in my office. I have a bedroom with an adjoining bath there." Emily and Clive argued just this afternoon and now their relationship is already over. That happened fast. Perhaps she is a woman who likes prompt decisions, perhaps the end of their relationship had been a long time in coming. Probably both.

"I'm sorry, but you can't go there," Hotch disagrees. "Your apartment and your office are possible targets. Somewhere else you could go? Otherwise I'd recommend a hotel for a couple of days."

Emily scrutinizes him for a moment before she answers, "I don't want to put other people at risk."

He thought so. A hotel it is then.

* * *

The night is cold and humid when they step out. In spite of the late hour, there are many people on the sidewalk. Hotch's car is parked only a few steps away, but he is tense, making sure that he stays close to Emily.

Due to traffic and people talking, he doesn't hear the first shot. It hits an exterior wall. The second shot hits the man next to Emily. People are screaming, ducking away. Hotch reacts immediately, pushing Emily down and throwing himself on top of her to protect her. There are more shots, more screaming in pain. People flee in terror. It's a chaos. There is blood splatter on the sidewalk.

"Emily?" Hotch grabs her shoulder, but she doesn't respond – her body limp, her skin pale against the dark ground. Only then Hotch notices the blood on her temple.

* * *

_To be continued_


	8. Confession and Remission

**A/N: **Thank you so much for your lovely reviews. They make my day and calm my fickle muse down. ;) So, here's the next chapter. Enjoy!

**The usual disclaimer applies.**

* * *

_Confession and Remission_

* * *

Hotch is standing at the window, looking outside. The sun is about to rise, a new day about to begin. The hotel suite is huge; Emily is sleeping in another room. Or maybe she just took a nap as he did. Hotch didn't sleep more than an hour. He didn't even bother to undress, has developed a technique how to sleep in an armchair or on top of a bed in a way that ensures his suit doesn't wrinkle over the years.

He notices a blood splatter on his right hand that he must have overlooked when he washed his hands earlier. It's been a while that he has had a night as dangerous and exhausting as the last. He had almost forgotten how much he likes it. For most people dangerous and exhausting is consistent with an experience they don't intend to repeat. At least not by their own choice. For Hotch dangerous and exhausting equates a necessary characteristic of his former job that brought along a heavy burden on some days or a tingle of excitement on others. Either way, it's this physical manifestation of the role he had back then what he misses most about not being the unit chief of the BAU anymore. Hotch might look like the typical bureaucrat in his suits he is wearing day in, day out, but he enjoyed being the obstacle between good and evil. A role he didn't have to occupy any longer after he had changed his life and had become a personal adviser. Until now.

His vision gets blurry as Hotch focuses on what he remembers about last night and not on what he sees outside. More often than not, what you see is only a half-truth. As it was last night.

First of all, and despite the blood on her face, Emily wasn't dead or even injured. Well, aside from some bruises due to Hotch's rough but successful attempt to save her life that is. The blood on her face was the blood of the man who had been hit by the second bullet. Emily simply passed out for a few seconds after Hotch had pushed her down and her head had hit the concrete. The man who had been shot wasn't so lucky as Hotch found out later. He died. Most likely in her stead. The investigation just has started. Hotch assumes that, once the angle from which the shots were fired will be discovered, it will indicate that Emily had been the intended victim.

Second of all, what must have looked like another random shooting and thereby a case for the local police for any bystander, was immediately handed over to the BAU after Hotch had called Derek Morgan a second time. Hotch had to make sure that Morgan intervened before the police could start to ask questions that would inevitably expose Emily Prentiss' involvement. He had to protect her privacy.

Third of all, it's interesting how people jump to premature conclusions. Hotch and Emily are no couple. The fact, though, that they arrived together at a hotel in the middle of the night, asking for a suite, led the receptionist to this albeit obvious, nevertheless wrong conclusion as Hotch could tell from the glance she shot at them. All that mattered, however, was that no one had followed them to the hotel and that a suite met their needs for distance (separate bedrooms) and closeness (he wouldn't leave her alone for safety reasons) at the same time. Sometime on their way to the hotel, Hotch had called Jessica. She could tell from his voice that something bad had happened and immediately promised him to take care of Jack as long as it would take.

All in all, those three things were nothing, though, compared to what he learned about Emily Prentiss last night. A mystery revealed. Never in a million years he would have expected to hear such a story. In a way, he still can't believe it's true although deep down he knows it is. Aaron Hotchner witnessed so many confessions throughout his career that he knows when someone is lying, and for once, she wasn't hiding behind her usual pokerface when she told him a painful truth that haunts her to this day.

Hotch's fingers absentmindedly rub over the blood splatter on his hand as he remembers. The rush of adrenaline should have started to diminish once they were at the hotel and in safety, but it didn't because he had witnessed something else in the middle of the chaos caused by the shooting. Something that had made him realize that Emily was hiding even more from him than he already had suspected. When the second shot had been fired and he had pushed her down, he had seen her reach for something. An automatic movement, well-known to him because he had trained it and made use of it countless times in the field. Emily had been reaching for a gun as if she was used to carry one. A movement she hadn't been able to suppress when her instinct had taken over in the moment of danger.

* * *

**Flashback**

_After the shots and the screaming, the silence in the hotel suite feels surreal. Hotch checks the rooms to make sure there is no one there but them. Better safe than sorry. When he walks back into the living room of the suite, Emily is still standing there. She dropped the bag she brought along and looks at him expectantly despite the tiredness that is written all over her face and reflected in her posture._

_Hotch loosens his tie. Due to his observation, there is way too much energy in his body considering the late hour. He'd like to go for a run to blow off some steam, but he has to stay with Emily for reasons of safety and perhaps for other reasons he isn't ready to admit yet. Either way, he feels trapped in his own body, replaying the scene in front of her apartment over and over in his mind. The shots. Her hand that went to her hip to reach for a gun that wasn't there._

We need to stop playing games. _The words are in his head. However, he doesn't say them out loud, the apprehension what she could reveal holding him back. Something tells him the explanation for her instinctive behavior will neither be easy for her to give nor easy for him to take in._

"_Ask me," Emily eventually prompts him; apparently she wants to stop playing games either. _

"_You used to carry a gun." It's not a question but a statement, followed by the root of the matter. "Not for self protection like a civilian. The way you reached for it was the same I used to reach for it when I was unit chief of the BAU. At some point in your life you carried a gun at work, but there was no hint at it in your résumé. Nothing that came even close. So what are you withholding?" _

_Emily holds Hotch's gaze before she walks over to the minibar and grabs two glasses and a bottle of Scotch. She pours both of them a drink and sits down in one of two armchairs beside an end table. An invitation for him to join her. _

_Hotch hesitates. "I don't drink when I work."_

_She looks out of the window as if the city lights actually interested her. It's a stunning view albeit it can't compare with the one from her office or apartment. "No drink. No story," she says. When he still hesitates, Emily turns her head to look at him. "Some stories require alcohol to be told and to be heard. So, please, have a drink with me."_

_Her voice is different, softer, for the first time it feels as if they are on the same side. Hotch sits down and takes a sip, the alcohol a pleasant, burning sensation in his throat. He looks out of the window like she does, assuming it will be easier for her to begin when he doesn't look at her. He is right. Emily starts to talk, her words gentle and composed as if she wants her tone of voice to absorb the things she is telling him. _

_Emily Prentiss has the best faked résumé Hotch has ever been confronted with. He suspected nothing when he checked the result of her background check. She did, in fact, grow up as the daughter of an ambassador and she also is, in fact, an art dealer and gallery owner nowadays. There were no unaccounted for time gaps. Yet, he hears her voice telling him that she had been working as an undercover agent for the CIA. It should be absurd, unbelievable; instead Hotch has no problems to imagine it at all. Her personality fits. She has the strength, the courage and the intelligence for a job like that. _

_It has started to rain outside. The scenario is surreal – the way they are sitting here together, talking, exudes a coziness and safety that does not exist. _

"_You don't have to take my word for it. Feel free to cross-check what I told you," Emily ends. Considering that she deliberately withheld information that is a total game changer, he will. Hotch has trustworthy contacts with access to otherwise classified documents that are able to assess the value of her statement. Nevertheless he is dead certain that cross-checking will be a redundancy. This time she told him the truth albeit not all of it. _

"_What about the basement?" he asks. "Was I right? Did you meet someone there?"_

_Her eyes darken; truth or not she would have preferred to skip that part. Then Emily straightens herself and leans forward, her arms resting on her legs, her gaze daring. She's all business, an almost masculine vibe surrounding her as she tells him. Listening to this particular part of her earlier, secret life, Hotch understands why she feels the need to use body language to distance herself and appear as professional and non-feminine as possible. It is a story that gets under your skin – a story about love but no love story._

_During one of her undercover assignments Emily Prentiss – or rather Lauren Reynolds as she called herself back then – met a man, Ian Doyle. He is a highly dangerous criminal and was her target before he became so much more. She didn't fall in love with him, but it was a close call. Living with him and his little son made it difficult to distinguish between role and reality. Her alter ego loved Ian and his son, and more often than not, there was no difference between Lauren and herself anymore. Either way, Ian Doyle fell in love with her and when she blew his cover and he ended up in prison, he swore to take revenge._

"_I feared Ian was behind it – the calls, the cards, the feeling that someone followed me. Of course, I could have been mistaken and had to do something about it either way. That's why I hired you. But I had to clarify whether Ian was still in prison or not. So I contacted one of my former colleagues – Clyde...," she stops short of saying his last name. The less Hotch knows the better. This is not about her not trusting him; this is about keeping the number of confidants regarding the security breach of her former colleague to a minimum. _

"_So... Doyle? Is he still in prison?" Hotch doesn't care about Clyde's last name or that Emily eventually admitted that she had met someone in the basement whereas she had been trying to convince him of the contrary all along. He only cares about the information itself, letting her know hereby._

"_Yes. I was so sure that it was him..." Emily shakes her head thoughtfully. "Even after Clyde had confirmed that he is still in prison and couldn't possibly have arranged something like that. But then I saw the picture at my wall and now..." She empties her glass and pours herself another drink. "Now I don't know what to think anymore." Emily snorts and smiles ruefully, avoiding eye contact. _

_And there it is, a glimpse of her vulnerability. Emily told Hotch unpleasant stories about herself tonight that most likely only very few people know. People she trusts, not strangers like him. Moreover, she didn't want to tell him in the first place but had to do so out of necessity. And now she awaits his judgement. Hotch knows from own experience, though, that it is easy to judge afterwards whereas a decision you make in a difficult situation can haunt you a whole lifetime no matter how thoroughly thought through it felt then. So, no, he won't judge her for anything – neither for deciding to have an abortion as a minor, nor for sleeping with a criminal as an undercover agent to gather the needed information to put him behind bars. That is simply not who he is. _

"_When did you decide to drop out of the CIA?" Hotch inquires instead._

_Her eyes meet his. Surprise. Then relief as she nods a silent _Thank You _and smiles that rueful smile again that tells him he already knows. _Doyle_._

"_After Doyle," Hotch gives voice to his thoughts._

"_Yes," she confirms._

_One case. You can be as tough or as experienced as you want, it's always one case that pushes you over the edge. It was Foyet for him and it was Doyle for her. Hotch understands. There are no more explanations needed. Just one more question._

"_Why do you even need me? Considering your past, you are well-prepared to handle this yourself, let alone your former contacts you could involve."_

_Emily smiles bleakly. "Yes, I could," she admits. "But I can't. Not if I want to be who I am now. Otherwise, I will never leave the past behind."_

_Hotch could tell her many things – especially that her past will never let her go, no matter how hard she tries. However, he remains silent and pours himself another drink, too, raising his glass to her. "Here's to leaving the past behind."_

* * *

Hotch is brought back to the here and now when his phone rings. It's David Rossi, telling him what the BAU has found out so far. Obviously Morgan woke up the whole team to start working on the case in the middle of the night. The surveillance video of the entrance area of the apartment building Emily lives in showed, indeed, a priest. A man of God is trustworthy. One of the concierges confirmed that he had seen him and had believed his story that he had an appointment with one of the residents. Save that he had broken into Emily's apartment instead. Unfortunately the tape is too blurry to actually make out a face. The investigation is up and running. The BAU team, namely Garcia, is trying to find out whether the priest that cursed Emily back then entered the country recently. So far, so good. But what Dave discloses next turns Hotch's stomach. He hates to be the bearer of bad news and this is more than bad news. Hotch dreads telling Emily. It will tear her apart. Just as he ends the call, though, there is a cautious knock at the door.

"Aaron? It's me. Are you awake?"

Despite the situation, her words make him smile. Her tone of voice almost sounds... intimate. Last night gave them an understanding of each other. After she had told him about the skeletons in her closet, so to speak, he told her about Foyet. A story only the people closest to him know when it comes to the details that are as heartbreaking as gory. Somehow, it felt appropriate to share that horrible experience with her. If Hotch was sentimental, he might fancy the idea that it was fate that made their paths cross.

He opens the door and Emily smiles at him, starting to talk.

"I just ordered breakfast brought to the suite. I thought you'd prefer that for safety reasons instead of the restaurant...," her voice trails off and the smile on her face fades when she sees his facial expression. "What's going on?"

Hotch doesn't want to tell her. However, there is no way around it.

"I just received news about your two friends." Hotch doesn't know them, doesn't even know how they looked like as adults. Two likable, teenage faces on a photo smiling at a world they expected to be full of adventures and exciting things – that's what they are for him. Save that they for sure didn't expect that.

Strictly speaking, he doesn't have to say anything else. Emily knows. It's in the way her posture tenses and the look on her face freezes. Hotch tells her, anyhow, because even if he spared her now, the questions would come later. So all they can do is get it over with. He takes a deep breath and starts to speak.

Hotch gave the names of her friends to Morgan as part of the investigation. They are dead, murdered within the last three months, fitting the time frame when the strange happenings in Emily's life began. The suspicion immediately suggests itself that the murderer is the same unsub who threatens her. Then again, the priest who cursed her back then has to be quite old by now. It is doubtful whether he has the health and strength to pull something like this through on his own. A disturbing thought since it means there could be more than one person out there seeking Emily's life.

"How?" she asks. _How did they die?_

"Emily..." Hotch warningly shakes his head albeit he knows that she can't help asking and that he will give in and tell her. They both have a background that provides them with images even worse than what actually happened whenever they lack the details, given what they both already experienced in life.

"I have to know. I can take it," she begs and assures him at the same time. Desperation wrapped up in courage.

He tells her. Both men were tortured and mutilated. They did neither die fast nor peacefully. Holy water and scraps of paper with rosary prayers were found at the crime scenes as if the torture and mutilation were part of a barbaric exorcism. Since the men were killed in two different countries, Italy and France, no one saw the connection until now.

Emily has visibly paled and sits down on a chair, burying her face in her hands. "Matthew... John...," Hotch hears her mumble the names of her deceased friends. "They died because of me." She remains silent for a moment before she looks at him, a sight of utter despair. "Because of _me_," she repeats, this time with hate-filled determination that causes Hotch to shiver because he can't tell whether she not only despises whoever did this but also herself for being the reason. "We have to find whoever did this."

Hotch wants the same. Judging from the look on her face, he hopes that she will let the BAU team do their job and not investigate herself. In consideration of the contacts she has, she might be able to find the person who did it even faster, which would basically be a good thing. Save that Hotch finds it difficult to predict whether she would simply bring the unsub to justice or take revenge. If you asked him right now, he'd state that she is capable of both.

"Don't do anything rash," he says.

"I won't." Emily holds his gaze, but her pokerface is back. Hotch can't tell what she has in mind.

* * *

_To be continued_


	9. Let me in

**_A/N: _**_Thank you so much for reading. Your lovely reviews are very appreciated._

_The usual **disclaimer** applies._

* * *

_Let me in_

* * *

"So, what do you have?" Hotch asks.

It feels weird to be here, in the heart of the BAU. Weird and good. Although the team has just come back from an assignment, they are all there, bleary-eyed but eager to help him out, their former boss who has become a close friend.

"We know that everything happens in threes because they were three friends," Reid says. "First three anonymous phone calls."

"Ms. Prentiss' private cell phone number was listed on the internet for several weeks by mistake. Anyone who was keeping track could have found out easily," Garcia explains.

"Maybe the calls were just warm-up or he had no other strategy how to approach her then. And when she didn't react, he upped the ante." Reid again.

"Three packages," Hotch states.

"Yes." Reid counts at his fingers' ends. "The first one empty, the second one shreds of paper, the third one flowers ripped to pieces. The empty one probably just was another version of a silent, anonymous phone call. The third one has a direct connection to the victim..." Reid catches Hotch's look and corrects himself, "...to Emily Prentiss since those were her favorite flowers as a child. The sender wanted her to know that _he_ knows _her_. He made it personal. We don't know yet what the second one means. Shreds of paper could symbolize his emotional turmoil. On the other side, he seems to be very organized. So if it means that, it's another message he sent on purpose."

"You already figured out the cards," Rossi takes over, addressing Hotch. "_Hell is empty_," he quotes the first part of the slogan that promoted the exhibition in Emily Prentiss' art gallery. Shakespeare. _Hell is empty and all the devil's are here._ "That slogan was the final trigger. She hadn't reacted to the phone calls or the packages. And then she chose a slogan that must have felt as if she was mocking him because he believes she belongs in hell for what she did." The abortion.

"The cards were written on an Italian typewriter," JJ adds as she enters the conference room. The way the paper has been dented by the letters, it was obvious at first sight that the cards hadn't simply been printed out. They were the work of an aficionado – of misled religious beliefs, revenge, and Italian craft as it turns out now. "Thanks for letting me use your database of oddities, Penelope." She smiles at Garcia. "You were right. See how the letters _t _and_ y_ at the end of _empty_ are slightly tilted?" JJ points at the screen where Penelope has displayed the card in question. "It was a mechanical malfunction of a certain typewriter brand produced in Italy in the late 80s."

Another connection with Italy and Emily Prentiss' past.

"So we have a priest from the Vatican as an unsub," Morgan summarizes. "He has a motive because she confessed to him that she'd had an abortion and he had the opportunity because there is a priest on the surveillance tape entering the building Emily Prentiss' lives in although we have to confirm his identity."

"I'm on it. No documented entry from Italy under the priest's name last year," Garcia elaborates. "But the bad news is that there was a congress four months ago with the involvement of a delegation from the Vatican that was allowed to enter the country without having to register because of their diplomatic status and the delegation already left again, but surprisingly enough no one wants to talk to me or tell me whether that includes all of them or not. So our priest might still be here."

An investigation that involves the Vatican has the potential to cause a political stir. They have to be cautious.

"Let's assume he is for now without excluding other possibilities." Morgan frowns, drumming his fingers on the table. "But even if he is, something feels off." He has come to the same conclusion that keeps bothering Hotch. "If Emily Prentiss is his original target, why did he waste so much energy killing her friends in such a barbaric way and then simply tries to shoot her? It's too fast, too clean. He would want to make her suffer to live out his revenge. It doesn't make sense."

They fall silent. Profiling never is 100% certain. In this particular case, though, they are certain that they don't see the big picture as yet.

"OK. Let's go over the evidence again," Morgan spurs his team on as Hotch gives him an appreciative nod.

* * *

"Hi. How are you?"

Hotch is caught off guard when he hears Emily's voice. He didn't expect her to answer the phone personally. That has never happened before. There was always one or another assistant telling him to hold the line or call back later. Seems as if he has moved up in hierarchy. The corner of his mouth twitches with the hint of a smile.

"Aaron?"

"I'm fine," he says, led astray by his sudden good mood when, in fact, he is not.

Hotch is tired and frustrated. It's late; they didn't make any progress today albeit they went over the facts again and again. The priest that cursed Emily years ago might be their unsub. Yet, they can't be sure that he actually is or was in the country. Maybe he has an accomplice. Or maybe someone else is faking the entire scenario to put the blame on the priest. Considering Emily's past, it is a possibility they can't disregard even though there is no evidence to support it. Hotch told the team about her background. It makes the investigation ten times more complicated.

"Anything new?" she asks, and only now, he realizes that she is short with him, no matter how friendly her voice sounds.

Emily has to be tired, too. Yet, they were also tired last night and shared a closeness then that is lacking now. Perhaps it requires an even later hour and alcohol.

"No," Hotch concedes. "We've called it a day. The team has been up for more than 48 hours. They need a break. We will continue tomorrow." Hotch doesn't like taking breaks, never liked it when he was in charge, but the human body is no machine. They all need some sleep. He pauses before he continues to speak, "I hope all is well with you. More or less." The death of her friends, the break-in, the attempt to take her life. It's a lot she has to come to terms with.

There is only a brief delay before she responds, "Sure." Terse again.

Hotch imagines Emily sitting at her desk. His memory provides him with one of her rare, honest facial expressions she let him see the previous night, but it fades and is replaced by her regular countenance. The one that matches her current tone of voice. Unreadable. He hears something clatter in the background. It doesn't sound as if she is in her office.

"Where are you?"

"At home."

That makes him stop dead in his tracks. They have booked the hotel suite for two more nights as a secret retreat. There is no reason for her to be back at her apartment that soon.

"Why?"

"Why not? Forensics did their job. It has been cleaned up. Everything's fine, Aaron."

She might appreciate his concern and want to reassure him that she, indeed, is fine or she might want him to back off. He can't tell. Hotch remembers the way Emily looked at him this morning after he had to tell her that her friends are dead. He has no idea what is going on in her head, what she might or might not be planning to do next, and has to remind himself that she is not any other client, not someone whose safety he has to worry about even if he still does. She is capable to protect herself. And yet, that is the part that makes him worry all the more about her because it makes her unpredictable.

"Are you alone?" At least he has to make sure she is not.

Emily snorts. "You know I'm not. The infantry is outside." The bodyguards he insisted on. "Are you on your way home?" Something in her voice has changed. The mere implication that he is going to see his son seems to have caused that.

Hotch remembers what Emily told him about Ian Doyle, about his son. It was an undercover mission, but at some point she got involved. Hotch wonders whether she has come to love that boy like her own child and misses him. If yes, then she must still feel responsible for him and guilty that she had to leave him behind. Another child that was not meant to stay in her life.

"Yes, I am," he responds.

Seeing Jack will be the only good thing today even if he is already asleep. Jessica told him so when Hotch talked to her on the phone only minutes ago. Therefore watching his son's small frame lying in bed, safe and sound under the blanket, has to suffice. And it will. The world holds too many dangers for the innocent, especially children, and the certainty that Jack is safe always comforts Hotch.

"Listen, I don't want you to put yourself in any danger," Emily emphasizes. "I appreciate that you involved your old team, but you have a son and you need to be there for him." Unlike Ian Doyle who can't be there for his son anymore because she made sure he ended up in prison. Emily Prentiss doesn't want to be the reason another child loses its father.

"Don't worry." It's a reflex, what he tells all his clients, whereas she is right to worry. The case is muddled, the threat real, and they have no idea what will come next. But that's not what is on Hotch's mind right now because it's back. Their closeness. He senses it even in her silence as she ponders on how to answer to his empty phrase. Hotch needs to see his son first, but afterwards, he decides on the spur of the moment, he needs to see her. "I'll come by later and we'll talk." Hotch doesn't want to give Emily a chance to decline and ends the call.

* * *

_To be continued_


	10. Let me go

**A/N: **First of all, my sincere apologies for the delay to everyone who has been waiting for updates. (Provided there is still someone reading this. Anyone? I'm not sure and I couldn't blame you.) However, I had a severe writer's block regarding this story and even considered to leave it unfinished, but then my muse returned from her grave, so to speak. There will be four more chapters (including this one). And the good news is that they are all more or less written already (I'm in the middle of editing). So that means no more hiatus. There will be updates every couple of days until the story is complete.

As to the 'previously': The storyline is quite complex. So you might have to re-read some stuff to get the references. Again, my apologies.

Having said that, I still hope there are people reading this who will enjoy the final installments. Here we go!

The usual **disclaimer** applies.

* * *

_Let me go_

* * *

It's almost midnight when Hotch knocks at the door of Emily Prentiss' apartment. He is in that semi-timeless state an ongoing case brings along, full of energy despite the sleep deprivation that has started to set in. Hotch is used to reduce his need of sleep to four hours max if the investigation requires it. He doesn't know whether the same goes for Emily Prentiss or not but considering that he received no call or text message from her after his announcement that he would come over _later_, he is quite certain that she has learned to get on with a minimum of sleep as well. If she intends to let him in at all.

She does. Emily invites him in non-verbally, a tilt of her head indicating that he is supposed to follow her into her living room. An open fire makes the room comfortably warm; jazz is playing in the background. She pours him a glass of red wine. The fire. The music. The wine. This is a scenario as if nothing happened here although there was a bloody pentagram on the floor and a photo of her deceased friends pinned to the wall right in this room only hours ago. The entire setting feels surreal.

"I compartmentalize well," Emily explains, reading his thoughts as she sits down opposite to him in an armchair. "It came with the job." She shrugs. The time she spent undercover. And indeed, she appears to be the epitome of calm although that should be impossible given the circumstances, only the shadow flitting across her face evidence that she is affected by what happened, no matter how professionally she handles it.

Hotch nods. He understands. Compartmentalization used to be a crucial factor in his world, too, but he left it behind or at least thought so until this case has brought back the necessity.

"I wanted to check on you in person," he says. He needs an explanation as to why he is here, doesn't he? Still is uncertain when it comes to his reasons. What is it about her that made him drive over in the middle of the night just to see her?

"That's...," she searches for the right word and settles for, "...nice." Emily screws up her face. "Sorry. I'm not good at casual conversations. At least not in private," she adds when Hotch raises his eyebrows because given her occupation she has to be, let alone that he witnessed her excel in small talk first hand during the opening of her exposition.

Maybe that's what the attraction is about. Every time he thinks he knows something about her, there is another layer that surprises him.

Emily swirls the wine in her glass, her gaze drifting off to a place inside. "I tried to get in touch with the bereaved of my friends although I knew it wouldn't be easy. I had a bad reputation as a teen. Can you believe it?" She laughs bitterly. "So I expected them to not exactly be welcoming. But Matthew's parents hung up on me the moment they heard my name and even if John's sister talked to me, you could tell she couldn't wait for the call to end." Emily swallows. "They wouldn't even let me properly say goodbye in hindsight."

She swirls the wine in her glass some more, watching it mesmerized, her sadness obvious now. No more compartmentalization. There is nothing Hotch could say to make her feel better; they both know that.

"So, will this nightly session appear on my bill?" Emily breaks the comfortable silence, abruptly changing subject and mood in the process.

Hotch can never tell what will happen next when he is with her. "No, it won't," he plays along, his tone of voice matching hers – noncommittal, bordering on flirtatious. Is it all just a game for her?

She holds his gaze, studying him thoughtfully. "Why are you really here?" Another change of subject and mood. Her teasing regarding the bill was just a distraction to catch him off-guard.

"Because I wanted to..."

"...check on me in person. Yeah, you already said that," she interrupts him. "You pay nightly visits to all your clients?"

Hotch is certain that Emily has been noticing for quite a while that he is attracted to her. Considering her background, it doesn't come as a surprise that she is able to see through him. What comes as a surprise is the way she addresses it – only between the lines, and yet, she couldn't be more blunt, practically daring him to take things one step further. For a brief moment Hotch wishes she wouldn't sit in an armchair opposite to him but next to him within touching distance. Then he reminds himself that Emily is his client, that this is a work-related visit. Has to be, no matter how drawn he is to her.

"It's late. I should go." Hotch puts his glass down and stands up.

She mirrors his actions and then steps forward so that they are face to face, their bodies almost touching. "Are you sure you want to leave?"

"Emily, I..." Hotch has no idea what to say or do, simply because he cannot reckon up her character. Does she not want to be alone because of what happened? Needs company and he arrived at the opportune moment? Or does she actually reciprocate his feelings?

"Sure, you should go," she takes the words out of his mouth again. And yet, she remains standing in place for another moment before she steps aside to let him through.

Only when her apartment door closes behind him and he finds himself alone in the hallway, Hotch wonders what the hell just happened.

* * *

They are stuck. The BAU team is used to investigate complex facts and circumstances. A motive that traces back to occurrences decades ago and a possible suspect that is under the blessing of the Lord are a unique situation, though, even for their expertise.

Hotch is on the phone with Rossi. He is their liaison to the Vatican, calming waves whenever the rest of the team is causing them.

"So how's it going?" Hotch asks.

"Oh, you know. The old tale of lies and betrayal. Those Vatican walls are thicker than blood and political accuracy."

"If anyone can get through them, it's you."

Rossi pauses.

"What?"

"They are hiding something, Aaron. The problem is, we don't know whether it's related to the case or something entirely different that has nothing to do with it," he sounds tired.

"You will find out."

"I always do, don't I?"

Despite the tense situation, Hotch has to smile. He has always appreciated Rossi's sophistication and composure.

"It's time we have dinner together again."

Rossi is a brilliant cook and wine connoisseur. His dinner invitations are legendary. Whenever he invites the team over, Hotch tries to join them.

"Someone is in a good mood today." Rossi knows him too well. And he is right. Hotch's encounter with Emily last night, as strange as it was, has left positive marks. A glimmer of light in an otherwise dark world.

* * *

"Thanks for coming by on such a short notice."

It's late. They are in her apartment again, but this time there is no open fire, music or wine. The only thing reminding Hotch of the previous evening is the way they are seated. Everything else is different, especially Emily's mood. She is tense; it is the first time he has seen her so nervous, bordering on anxious.

"Clyde contacted me," she begins without preamble. "And you can call me paranoid, but there are some things I won't talk about on the phone and my apartment is the only place where I am certain that no one is able to listen."

He wouldn't call her paranoid. If she believes these are necessary precautions, then she probably is right. Given her past, Emily Prentiss for sure has some dangerous enemies. Let alone that there are countless so called journalists that would do anything for a good story about her.

She takes a deep breath. "Contrary to what his contacts told Clyde earlier, he has come to know that Doyle _did_ escape from prison. It's not official because someone screwed up big time, but I'd say that puts Ian on the top of the list of suspects. Maybe he staged all of this, just made it look as if this is about my past and as if some crazy priest is behind it to play with me."

_Ian._ Hotch can't say if his first name actually rolls off her tongue that easily or if it was a slip.

"He knows about your… about what happened in Italy? You told him?"

"Yes, I did." Her voice is flat but without any hint of an apology or justification. Being undercover is hard, even the best need some bonding from time to time, and by now, Hotch is aware that she developed a special bond with Ian Doyle.

Either way, their prime suspect was a priest gone rogue until now. An enemy Emily Prentiss took seriously but didn't consider a real threat. Ian Doyle is a different kind of criminal. Someone who makes you look over your shoulder everywhere you go and lock every door behind you twice.

"I have to inform the team," Hotch says.

"Yes, you should definitely do that." Emily wrings her hands, her tension palpable. When Hotch reaches for his phone, she contorts her face. "Do it in person, please," Emily reminds him.

Hotch nods and stands up. It has been a short visit. He would like to stay, especially after what she just told him.

"Are you ok?" he asks.

She shrugs. "I have a gun. I can protect myself." Playing it cool when she's anything but.

The thought hits him out of the blue that perhaps part of her concern stems from the fear that even though she has a gun, Emily might worry whether she actually will be able to pull the trigger to defend herself against Doyle considering their history.

"What?" As if she literally can see his thoughts. She would be an excellent profiler.

Hotch would like to ask her, but he is aware that this would lead to a talk that would take up too much time. Time they don't have right now. He needs to inform the BAU immediately, at least Morgan and Rossi since the rest of the team probably has already gone home.

"You will have to tell us everything about Doyle," he says instead.

"I know," Emily agrees. "I will come in first thing tomorrow morning."

Hotch can tell she already dreads it. Having to speak about Doyle in general because it will bring up old memories as well as standing in front of the team and having to reveal her intimate relationship with a wanted criminal. No amount of professionalism will be able to balance out the humiliation although he is dead certain that she won't let it show.

"Good night, Emily." For now she is safe with security outside and a gun to protect herself. That doesn't make it any easier for Hotch to leave though. "Call me if anything comes up, no matter the time."

"I will." She smiles half-heartedly.

When he turns around, she reaches out and touches his arm. "Hotch? Thank you."

Of all the things he expected her to say, this wasn't on his list. He brushes her fingers, but she is already pulling her hand away again, the moment over.

Hotch clears his throat. "See you tomorrow."

Another time he finds himself in the hallway in front of her apartment wondering how much longer he will be able to keep up the professional facade.

* * *

"You're in early," JJ greets Reid. He is standing in the middle of their open space office, surrounded by everything they secured as evidence in Emily Prentiss' case.

"Couldn't sleep. It has to be in here somewhere. What does the 2nd package mean? Did you see that there are all these tiny question marks on the paper shreds? I thought it was dirt first, but they are question marks. So, what is the question? And what is the answer?" Reid stares at the package with the paper shreds.

JJ picks up one of the paper shreds. "God, you're right"

The door of Rossi's office opens. He and Hotch come out.

"Wow! Everyone is in early today," JJ states.

"Yeah, they've been here all night. Morgan, too. And I overheard that Emily Prentiss will come in soon," Reid informs her absentmindedly.

"That requires more coffee." JJ heads off to the office kitchen.

Reid barely notices it, staring at the paper shreds. He needs to solve that riddle. It's driving him crazy.

* * *

"Wow! Three nights in a row. People will say we're in love," Emily greets Hotch as she opens the door of her apartment.

He can't tell whether she is drunk or simply happy although he can't imagine why she would be given the circumstances. Either way, she leaves him no time to respond, turning around and going back into her living room, obviously expecting him to follow her. As if he had done anything else recently.

"Any news?" She is drinking wine, pouring him a glass, too. So alcohol is responsible for her high spirits, at least partly.

Hotch takes the glass but doesn't drink the wine. He already knows it will taste exquisite. Emily Prentiss has the best taste when it comes to anything except criminals she gets involved with.

"What's going on?" he asks.

"Come on, Aaron. Loosen up a little." She fumbles around with his tie, trying to undo the knot.

"Emily." He grabs her hand to stop her.

She sighs and steps away from him, pacing across the room.

"It's such a relief!" Emily exclaims. "All this time I was wondering when it would happen, when he would come after me and now… It has happened. All bets are off, but anything is better than this life on hold. And wasn't it great how everyone tried to be polite and professional when I told them about Ian and me when they were secretly judging me. At least some of them."

There it is again. _Ian._ She probably thought her past was a scar when it suddenly feels like a fresh wound again. Hence the tirade.

"I'm sure no one judged you."

"Oh, Aaron! What is it with you? You're always so uptight, never showing any emotion. Don't you feel anything? At least sometimes?"

Emily stops her pacing right in front of him, standing so close that he can smell the alcohol in her breath. This is it. If he doesn't stop her…

She kisses him. There is a slight hint of hesitation but once she realizes he doesn't reject her, the kiss becomes hungry, passionate. Exactly the way he imagined she would kiss. And yet...

"We shouldn't do this." Finally Hotch comes back to his senses when they have to gasp for air.

"Maybe that's why it feels so good," she breathes.

He can't help but think of her and Doyle. Was that part of the reason why she agreed to that assignment? Because things you shouldn't do _feel so good_?

Emily looks at him, searching for something in his eyes and eventually takes a step back. His body immediately misses her warmth.

"Sorry," she says although she doesn't sound as if she means it.

"Emily, wait." Hotch catches her wrist. "It's not that I don't want it. I just think this is not the right moment."

She snorts. "Then what is? When I'm dead? When Doyle found and killed me? There are no right moments, Aaron. You of all people should know that. There are just moments. Either you make use of them or you let them pass."

They shared their stories that night that feels like a lifetime ago. She told him about Doyle; he told her about Foyet. There is a bond, a mutual understanding between them that goes beyond anything he has ever experienced. Her words strike a nerve. This is still wrong, but she is right and…

This time Hotch kisses her. She is surprised, he can tell by the way it takes her a moment to adjust to his newly found brazenness when he pulls her towards him. Then she relaxes in his arms. The kiss is not as frantic as their first one. They take their time. And when Hotch leans back, looking at Emily, he knows there is no way around what is going to happen.

* * *

Over at the BAU, the team calls it a day.

Reid puts the package with the shreds of paper away. "I can't believe I'm not able to solve this."

"Do something you normally don't do. That will clear your head," Garcia advises him. "When I'm stuck thinking about something, I clean up my apartment as tidily as I never usually do."

Reid nods. Something he normally doesn't do. Answering that question alone is difficult since there is no _normal_ when it comes to him. His life is always the exception. He sighs. There is no use. He has to sleep eventually.

He turns off the lights and goes home.

* * *

"Morning," Emily smiles at him when Hotch opens his eyes.

"Morning." This should be awkward, but for some reason it isn't. It feels good and right to be here with her.

"I didn't know what you want for breakfast. I usually call the shop across the street and have them deliver some coffee. But if you want something else..."

"No, coffee is fine."

"Ok." Emily gets out of bed and for a brief, much too short moment Hotch is able to appreciate her naked body. It all happened so fast last night.

"I'll take a shower." It's either this and get back to work or pull her back in bed and forget about the rest, but considering there is at least one maniac out there wanting to kill her, the latter is no option. Unfortunately.

* * *

"You're early again!" This time it's Morgan greeting Reid.

"Yes." Reid is not even looking at Morgan, fixated on the package with the shreds of paper. Morgan isn't surprised. This is how Reid behaves when he is trying to figure something out.

Reid hoped some hours of sleep would clear his mind. As it turns out, they haven't. He still has no clue of the meaning of the package and its content. _Do something you don't normally do_, he remembers Garcia's words. Reid takes the package and throws it across the room. The shreds of paper fall out and swirl through the air. It's as if he is standing in a snow storm. Reid watches the snippets fall on the floor one after the other, question mark after question mark until...

He picks one of the shreds up and frowns.

* * *

Aaron's phone rings when he is taking a shower. Emily sees the name on the display. _Spencer Reid calling_. She usually would never answer someone else's phone, but this is the BAU calling. They could have urgent news regarding Doyle and when it comes to Doyle, every second counts.

"This is Emily Prentiss speaking."

There is a brief moment of surprise. Then, "This is Spencer Reid. Could I talk to Aaron Hotchner, please?"

"He is..." _taking a shower to wash the scent of sex and sweat off his skin_ "...tied up at the moment. Can I deliver a message to him? I saw your name on the display and thought it might be urgent."

"Um… yeah, sure," Reid agrees after some hesitation. Why wouldn't he? She is Aaron's client, was at the BAU in person yesterday. In the end, every information Aaron Hotchner receives about the case, she receives, too.

"We have an address. It was on one of the shreds of paper. Some of them had an exclamation mark instead of a question mark and there was an address written on them so small you could only read it with a magnifying glass." He sounds excited and proud that he finally found out what was the deal with the mysterious package.

"Give me the address. I'll tell Aaron."

Again, Reid hesitates only briefly before he gives her the details. _This is way too easy_, Emily thinks as she writes it down. All this effort and then whoever is behind it will wait for them at the address to let them arrest him? No way!

* * *

"Emily?"

When Hotch comes out of the shower, Emily is not in the bedroom anymore. He is not worried until he discovers that she is also not in the living room or kitchen.

"Emily?" Louder this time. Her apartment is spacious; maybe there are corners he knows nothing about yet. But she still doesn't answer.

This is ridiculous. She can't be gone. The silence in the apartment is beginning to give him a queasy feeling though. Hotch checks his phone. No text messages, no missed calls. She probably went to the shop across the street to get their breakfast coffee instead of having it delivered. It's careless; she shouldn't do that, but the idea that she was too impatient to wait for it makes him smile. It's their first breakfast together, after all.

He might as well use her absence to let the BAU bring him up to date. Morgan immediately answers his phone when Hotch calls him.

"Hotch, did Emily tell you about our new lead? We are on our way."

As Hotch listens to Morgan telling him about Reid's finding and phone call with Emily, he checks the apartment another time, only now noticing that her safe is wide open. _I have a gun. I will protect myself._ This can't be happening, and yet, knowing her, it makes sense. Emily believes it's Ian Doyle who is after her. A shadow from her past. An old score she wants to settle herself. The open safe is her message to him.

"Give me the address, I'll meet you there."

Emily has a slight advantage. All he can hope is that they won't arrive too late.

* * *

_To be continued_


	11. Hush, my darling, don't you cry

**A/N:** Thank you SO MUCH for the warm welcome despite my hiatus, guys! That was unexpected and wonderful and made me VERY HAPPY (imagine the heart emoji here).

As promised, here is the next chapter. Things are getting kind of creepy...

**The usual disclaimer applies.**

* * *

_Hush, my darling, don't you cry_

* * *

Hotch stops his car and gets out. Morgan and Rossi are already there.

"Anything?" Hotch asks.

They are at the address Reid found.

"No." Morgan shakes his head. "The address is no more than a mailbox. A ploy to lure us here."

They fall silent for a moment, aware that the main purpose was to lure not them but Emily here and that they unintentionally played into the hands of that, the fact that they can't find her confirming their worst fear.

"Let's not draw hasty conclusions," says Rossi, as always the circumspect one. "She could be anywhere."

"Yeah," Morgan agrees whereas Hotch keeps quiet.

Approximately an hour ago he was still in bed with Emily, the previous night dwindling into a feverish dream in light of the current events. Hotch is certain that something happened, something bad. Emily had a head start and used it to get here alone, but she would have waited for them or given them notice what happened, what she was about to do next, if she'd had the chance. She is stubborn and adamant to take care of herself, but she is also professional, wouldn't place herself in danger unnecessarily. It all boils down to the truth that evil has found its way in his life another time.

"No," Hotch eventually objects with gritted teeth. "He has her and we need to find her."

Whatever it is between him and Emily, it only has begun; he won't lose her.

* * *

It's cold. Why is it so cold? Emily moves and groans. Her head feels as if it has shattered into a thousand pieces, her vision blurry. She tries to sit up, her hands fumbling around, feeling dusty concrete. She is lying on the floor. When she pushes herself up, it causes nausea in an instant. She coughs; her throat is dry. _Focus_, she urges herself, _fight the sickness_. Emily takes several deep breaths and pushes herself up again in a sitting position. The nausea is not as bad anymore, but she still feels dizzy and feeble. It's dark; however she can make out vague forms. She is in a windowless room, a basement perhaps. As far as Emily can tell, the room is empty, the door ajar, letting a glimmer of light seep in.

Standing up is difficult; she is wobbly on her legs, stumbling over to the wall to steady herself against it. Only then Emily is able to approach the door, pushing it open carefully. It gives way with a quiet squeak, leading to a long hallway with countless other doors, the floor filthy, the plaster peeling off the walls. An abandoned building; no one has been here for a very long time.

Emily steps in the hallway. God, every muscle hurts. What happened? She tries to remember, still fuzzy-headed. Reid called her and told her about the address he had found on the shreds of paper. And then? She got her gun and drove over there. A twinge of guilt floods through her that she left Hotch like that after they had just spent the night together. Not exactly an ordinary first date. Then again, nothing about them, their past or their present is ordinary. And now she is here. Maybe there will be no second date either way.

She shakes off the dark thoughts, has to remember what happened in order to plan her escape. Emily was aware that it had to be a trap when she arrived at the address Reid had given her, but it was somewhere midtown, people all around. It didn't seem dangerous. She expected it to be the place where she would receive further instructions that would lead her somewhere else, someplace where the real danger would wait for her. Something must have happened there. Otherwise she wouldn't be here.

The back of her neck hurts; Emily instinctively touches it, feeling a prick and a slight swelling around it. _Of course._ How could she have been so stupid? Because she had expected Ian to be behind all of it; that's why. Because she knows him. Ian Doyle confronts people, goes straight for the throat. Emily had been so blinded by their twisted history, by her assumption what would happen that she wasn't on the lookout against someone sneaking up on her, someone who would inject her with something that immediately made her defenseless. The perfect trap. An abduction while everyone was watching. She remembers now...

The prick. The dizziness. She tumbled.

_Take care, honey. _

A man grabbed her, surprisingly gently as if they knew each other, taking care of her or at least pretending to do so as he was pulling her towards a car. Some pedestrians asked if they needed help.

_We're good, thanks. My wife is feeling sick; she's pregnant. I'm taking her home. _

The last thing Emily remembers is being pushed in a car, desperately trying to resist, but her muscles were like jelly. She couldn't speak anymore, couldn't think, her consciousness fading fast. And then nothing until now.

She walks down the hallway. There has to be a specific reason as to why she is here. No one makes such an effort without a purpose. Whoever it was who took her, it wasn't Ian, though, as she had expected. She didn't see the man's face; he approached her from behind, but she remembers a firm grip, being pressed against a tall body with well-defined muscles. And a voice. _Take care, honey._ Soothing, friendly. A sharp contrast to the threatening situation. However it was not Ian's body, not Ian's voice. And not the body or the voice of an old man either, ruling out the priest unless he has an accomplice.

Her steps create an echo. Walking is helping her to feel better, Emily's muscles getting adjusted to movement again with every step she takes, her stomach calming down. The only aftereffect left, aside from a blinding headache, is a funny taste in her mouth. She has no idea how long she was out cold. More than 12 hours? More than a day? Considering the way her body is affected, it must have been quite a while. Hotch has to be worried about her. The thought hits her out of the blue and she pushes it to the back of her mind immediately. She can't allow herself to think of him right now. This is purely about survival.

There is door next to door on both sides of the hallway, all closed. Emily tries some of the handles, anyway, but the doors are locked as is the door at the end of the hallway. No way out. Just as she turns around, looking back at where she came from, reflecting what to do next, the door closest to her opens as if by an invisible hand. The room is empty save for a chair in the middle of it and a bottle of water on the floor.

It could be another trap, most likely is, but there are no other options left. She has to play his game, at least to some extent, to find his weakness and use it against him. Emily enters the room warily, only now seeing the note next to the bottle of water._ Drink it. No more sedatives._ Her mouth is dry, her throat burns, the headache… She is dehydrated and needs water to fight the effects of the drug he gave her. To hell with it. Emily picks the bottle up and drinks the water greedily, savoring the relief for her parched throat.

She expected the door to close behind her while she was drinking, but nothing happened. When Emily turns around, eying the open door, she freezes though. At first she doesn't even recognize what it is. It looks like a pile of tattered clothes that someone attached to the ceiling above the door. Then she makes out limbs, an arm here, a leg there, and some grimy hair. It's no pile of clothes hanging above her. These are bodies. It's been a while that Emily has seen a body, let alone several of them displayed in such a disgusting way. Nevertheless, logical thinking and experience kick in straightaway. She wonders why there is no smell, considering the stages of decay she should smell something, but then she sees the ventilation system. However he did it, he has managed to keep the air in this filthy room with these rotten bodies as fresh as possible.

"Sit down."The voice startles her, coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time.

Emily looks around. There has to be a camera somewhere, but she doesn't see one. Maybe he hid it among the bodies.

"Don't make me say it again." A trifle annoyed but still sounding condescending and amused as if this was just a game and she simply a reluctant participant.

Again she doesn't see any other option than to play along. Emily sits down on the chair that faces the door, the bodies practically dangling above her head.

Some kind of slide show starts, projecting pictures onto the wall. A middle-aged man, homeless judging by his appearance, a note saying _Thief_ applied to his threadbare coat. Another man of similar appearance, only younger, the note saying _Fraud_. An old woman. _Adulteress_. Emily wants to close her eyes so as to not connect the faces with the lifeless limbs, but she knows she can't look away, not if she wants to survive. Anything could be a clue.

Another picture, another man. This time, however, Emily's entire body tenses. It's the priest of her youth, the one who cursed her. Even if he is older now, of course, she recognized him in an instant, wouldn't have thought she could, but obviously there are some faces you never forget. _Traitor_, his note reads. Emily looks up reflexively, searching for the priest's body. She doesn't find him albeit he is there, somewhere; she is sure of that.

So it's not Doyle behind all of this and not the priest. Then who is it? Does the voice talking to her out of nowhere belong to the man who sedated her? She can't tell, the speakers distorting it. Now that she has had some water, Emily's body and mind crave for a break to recuperate. Despite the gruesome situation, she is drained, the adrenaline rush of coming to in this gruesome place subsiding until the next picture makes her pulse go sky high.

It's a picture of her, unconscious on the floor with a note that says _Murderer_.

* * *

_To be continued_


	12. Death is gonna sing you a lullaby

**A/N:** Thanks again for the reviews, guys. I love to read your speculations. This was supposed to be a short chapter until it wasn't. ;) Hope you don't mind and enjoy it! Still a bit creepy though.

**The usual disclaimer applies.**

* * *

_Death is gonna sing you a lullaby_

* * *

**24 hours ago**

"We need the recordings of every camera in the area," Morgan orders.

They are back at the BAU. There was no trace of Emily or the unsub on site; it made no sense to stay.

"Coming up," Garcia responds, her fingers flying over the keyboard.

She started the research as soon as Morgan contacted her while they were still on their way and informed her about the situation. Penelope has only met Emily Prentiss once and liked her at first sight, the idea that something happened to her, that she is out there somewhere, possibly hurt, sickening her. She is confronted with evil every day; they all are, but it's worse when people are involved that you know.

"There are ten cameras in total on the street in question and I narrowed it down to these two streams because this is the street number Reid found out and here..." Garcia zooms in. "...is Emily, I guess." She looks at Hotch. "The quality of the tape is poor and you can only see her from behind, but it appears to be her. Don't you think? You know her best."

They watch the recording in silence for a moment. It has no sound – the typical, blurred, black-and-white recording of a cheap security camera, showing a tall, slim woman with dark hair. She collapses in the arms of a man after he approached her from behind and injected something in the back of her neck. Hotch doesn't know what Emily decided to wear this morning. The last time he saw her, she was naked. However physique as well as clothing, even if she is dressed very casually by her standards, match her type. Plus the recording shows her taking several steps before she collapses and the way she moves is undoubtedly her.

"Yes, it's Emily," Hotch confirms, his voice strained.

"How did he know when she would show up? That she would show up at all?" Garcia asks.

"No idea." Hotch shakes his head. "Either he was lucky or he surveilled her. What about the man? Could you already identify him?"

"No," Garcia says apologetically although there is no reason for it; she is doing the best she can. "There is no camera showing his face. Not this one, not one of the others. This..." She stops the recording as the man closes the car door after he pushed Emily inside and zooms in again. "...is the best I could do." The reflection of half of his face in the car window, even blurrier than the rest of the recording. "No match. It's not Doyle or the priest or any of the usual suspects in our databases." Meaning those whose previous convictions are on record. "Then again, it's very difficult to get a match if the source has such a bad quality." Meaning the unsub could very well be in one of the databases and the still was just too bad to get a match. Or it is someone without a criminal record; someone that is even harder to identify and catch. The worst of all possibilities but a very likely one given the circumstances.

"What about the license plate?" Morgan asks.

"Fake."

"What about GPS or other ways to track down the car? We're losing time. We need to know where he took her." Hotch is getting impatient. They are here, safe and sound at the BAU while Emily has to face God knows what kind of cruelties.

Garcia takes a deep breath. "I cross-checked with the traffic cameras. He drove out of town and the license plate didn't appear in any of the small villages nearby he could have reached during the available span of time. Of course he could have changed it, but there's a lot of nowhere land in between with no security cameras or accessible satellite feeds. Just miles and miles of fields and woods," she delivers the bad news, displaying a map of the area.

"He has a hiding place there somewhere," Morgan sums up what they all are thinking.

* * *

**Present**

Emily remains calm and composed even though the photo of her, unconscious on the floor with the note _Murderer_, caught her off-guard. She should be scared, but her professional training prevents that. She can be scared later. For now she needs to survive.

Her photo is still projected onto the wall, her unconscious face pale. Emily hates the thought that she was defenseless in that moment. He could have done anything and she wouldn't have noticed, wouldn't be able to remember. Maybe he did. _Stop that_, she chides herself. _This is only the beginning. _And obviously the anonymous voice that came out of the speakers and told her to sit down so that she could watch the gruesome slide show is waiting for her reaction.

"I'm not a murderer," Emily states. She killed people, for sure, but always to defend herself in the line of duty and that doesn't classify as murder.

"You _are_ a murderer. Maybe this will help you remember."

A new picture, also of her, unconscious on the floor, also with a note, but this time it reads _Abortionist_. Of course.

"Who are you?"

The priest is dead, but it's about the same topic, about a decision she made a lifetime ago as a teenager and that broke her heart. Who is he to judge her?

"I'm someone who knows what you did. Your sin needs to be punished." Although his voice is distorted, the first signs of rage are distinctive.

This is good. If he is angry, he will make a mistake sooner or later. She just has to be careful that he doesn't get too angry, too fast and kills her. A tightrope walk.

* * *

**10 hours ago**

They have tried everything to no avail. No car that matches the color and brand was reported stolen. The license plate was stolen from a local car dealer out-of-town, but no one saw anything and there were no security cameras. Emily and the man who took her have disappeared from the face of the earth.

The BAU team is tired; they need to take a break. However no one has gone home although it is late.

"We need to start over with the profile," Morgan says. "We are looking for a Caucasian male in his mid to late 20s. Medium weight, medium height, dark short hair, wearing jeans and a gray jacket. So we know what he looks like, but we don't know who he is or what his motives are. Rossi, any reaction from the Vatican?"

They already know that a delegation entered the country several months ago to attend a congress and didn't have to register due to their diplomatic status. The delegation is back in Italy by now, but the Vatican is maintaining silence on whether all the members returned or not.

"None," Dave answers. "I sent them the still, but they neither confirmed nor denied that it could be one of theirs."

"Damned," Morgan hisses.

"It's my fault," Reid interposes, something that has been weighing upon his mind the entire time. "I shouldn't have given her the address."

"Reid, stop it! You couldn't know. No one could have predicted this," Hotch reassures him. "Not even me and I'm… she's…," his voice trails off.

They all are aware by now that Emily Prentiss is more than a client. You can't be in a room full of profilers without them noticing.

Rossi eventually breaks the awkward silence. "We will find her," it is his turn to reassure his friend. "We will."

* * *

**Present**

"Is that what they deserved? To be punished for their sins?" Emily gestures at the horrible knot of dead people at the ceiling even if the slide show already answered that in a way. She doesn't know whether these poor people actually committed the _sins_ listed on the respective notes that were attached to their clothes for the macabre photo session. However there is one crucial question. "And why was the priest a traitor?" Emily has no doubt by now that the man knew the priest, that this is about Italy and her past and nothing else. Ian Doyle might be on the run, but this is not his handwriting. These are the deeds of a madman. Or two.

"They all got what they deserved. And he..." The voice trembles with rage. "…he betrayed me and his original plan to do the right thing, to punish you for your sin. The devil must have found a way in during one of our exorcisms. It never was about revenge, but in the end he was guilty of wrath, couldn't control his anger and hate towards you anymore. And that's not what this is about. I don't hate you. I just want you to confess and make amends."

Wrath. One of the seven cardinal sins. What were the misdeeds of the others? _Thief_, Emily remembers, possibly equalling greed in his book. _Fraud_ could be seen as envy and the _adulteress_ as well as her abortion as a consequence of lust. It's the twisted logic of a hypocrite – accusing the dead priest of acting out of anger when she definitely can hear anger in his voice. Let alone that no belief justifies killing people.

It's not difficult to imagine what could have happened. Emily knows enough about the abyss of the human soul to connect the dots. His voice sounds rather young. So he probably is one of the priest's pupils, a younger priest that looked up to the older man and was slowly but surely sucked into his insane world. Well, there must have been some inherent madness inside of the younger man already. And at some point things got out of control and the pupil took over. Something doesn't fit though.

"Was it you who tried to shoot me?" The phone calls, the cards, the staging in her apartment – all that was meticulously planned and accomplished whereas the shooting was sloppy.

He doesn't answer, but she can hear his heavy breathing and worries for a moment. Maybe this was the question she shouldn't have asked. Sitting on a chair in the middle of an otherwise empty room, she is an easy target. He can shoot her whenever he wants and she won't stand the slightest chance.

"HE WAS OBSESSED WITH YOU!" His scream bounces off the walls; Emily flinches before she can stop herself. However this answers her question. Everything else must have been the plan of the old priest although she still doesn't understand why it took him decades to come after her. But his pupil became jealous that she was the sole focus of his attention.

The silence that follows is deafening. All she hears is his breathing as he is trying to calm down.

"Confess," he demands, much more composed now.

The funny thing is that she would like to. Maybe she wouldn't call it a confession, but the decision she made decades ago to abort her unborn child haunts her to this day and it would be a relief to just take the blame and receive some kind of absolution in return even if this is a burden she will always have to carry with her. Emily's instinct tells her, though, that he will kill her the moment she will give in.

"_If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness._ John 1:9," she quotes instead, realizing that it is eerily fitting that John is the name of one of her friends that he killed. She didn't even know she still remembered that bible quote from her childhood.

This seems to leave him speechless.

"_For if you forgive other people if they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you._ Matthew 6:14." Emily swallows. Matthew was her other friend that was killed because of her. Why did she remember these two quotes of all things? Maybe this is fate. Maybe whatever she will do or say won't make a difference and it's her atonement to die here.

She will never know if it was part of the plan or a spontaneous decision. There is some rustling in the speakers and then Emily hears a voice she knows very well but hasn't heard in years, will never hear again because her friend is dead. John. He states his name, obviously forced to do so. Hotch gave her the details on how her friends died because she insisted on it. Slowly, painfully, tortured to death. She never expected to have to listen to it.

Back then when Emily was an agent, she was trained how to handle a situation like this, how to withstand physical or psychological torture, but that was a long time ago and this is her friend. It doesn't only hurt, his voice that at some point pleads to just let him die cuts right into her soul. She knows she shouldn't let show how much it affects her. However her hands cover her ears of their own accord, trying to distance herself from John's voice and his agony that flood through her body, invading every cell.

He turns up the volume in response and when the tape finally, _finally_ is over, he starts the next one. Matthew.

* * *

**2 hours ago**

A fatalistic quiet is filling the premises of the BAU. JJ and Reid take a nap, Rossi is on the phone with the Vatican one more time, probably to no avail again, as Morgan is talking to the helicopter pilot. They could send track hounds, but the area is so huge and inaccessible that they wouldn't know where to start. So they had hoped that there would be new findings through exploring the area by helicopter.

There weren't, Hotch can tell by Morgan's expression. Another dead end. His exhaustion goes beyond a lack of sleep. He is on the verge of accepting that this is it, that he will never see Emily again.

"Guys!" Garcia rushes in. "Remember when I told you there are no houses, farms, whatsoever in the area? I just checked the documents of the building department again. There was a wrecking permit for an abandoned asylum years ago. It hasn't been in use since 1965 and isn't on the map anymore because it was supposed to be torn down, but that didn't happen. It's still there, hidden deep in the woods, impossible to spot from the air. No official roads lead there, only a forest path."

Woken up by her agitated voice, Reid and JJ join them.

"JJ, Hotch, let's go," Morgan orders. "Reid, you stay here to coordinate the operation. Tell Rossi to keep talking to the Vatican. They are still our best source as to who the unsub might be. As soon as we have confirmed that this is in fact the hiding place, we will give you a call. Have backup on stand-by to intervene and give the local police a heads-up what's about to happen."

* * *

**Present**

Everybody has a breaking point. Emily wonders if she is already past hers. She doesn't know for how many hours he has made her listen to the tapes. Probably not nearly as long as it feels. At first she thinks her imagination is playing tricks on her when she hears some kind of pounding in the distance. Only when the tape stops abruptly and the pounding is still there, she realizes that someone must be trying to get inside.

It's one of these moments that happen extremely fast and in slow motion at the same time. She knows he will lock her in because he has to take care of whatever is happening outside but doesn't want to kill her since he is not done with her yet. Emily bolts towards the door as it starts to close. There must be some kind of remote-controlled mechanism to close it. It's an old door, though, and it doesn't slam shut as she expected but snaps shut rather slowly.

However the room is large and she is weaker than she thought, getting dizzy after a few steps so that she has to slow down in order not to faint. Albeit she doesn't want to, she has to stop to take a breath, watching the door close even more. _Come on, Emily, you almost did it, only a few more steps_, she urges herself on, taking the last steps towards the door, feeling her body brush against its surface, almost getting stuck between the door and its frame before she manages to slip through at the very last moment.

* * *

"All the entrances are either bricked up or have steel doors," Morgan exclaims, pounding at another of said doors just to prove what he already knew.

If this is a hiding place as they suppose, then their unsub already knows they are there, hidden cameras surveilling them. No one turns a building into a fortress without such precautions. So there's no need to be quiet.

"The windows are boarded up," JJ adds.

Hotch approaches them. He checked the other side of the building and overheard them.

"No way in," he confirms.

Whoever chose the abandoned building as a hiding place invested a lot of time and money to make sure of that.

Morgan shakes his head, getting his phone out. "Whatever this is, it's not your usual abandoned building. I'll call Reid. I think our unsub and Emily are here."

Hotch nods grimly. "Yeah, I think so, too."

Just as Morgan has finished talking to Reid, requesting back-up, the steel door closest to him opens as if by magic. They draw their guns; Morgan approaches the entrance.

"Don't go inside, Derek," JJ warns him. "This is a trap."

"Let me go," Hotch offers.

He has a son he needs to take care of, but right now all he can think of is that the open door has brought him closer to Emily. He wouldn't risk his life for no one but her or Jack even though the members of his old team come close.

"No!" Morgan raises his hand to signal him to stay back, stepping inside.

The moment he disappears in the building, darkness swallows him and the door slams shut with a metallic screech.

It's pitch-black; Morgan can't see his hand in front of his face. Gun still drawn, he turns on his flashlight. He is in some kind of examination room with dusty shelves along the walls and a stretcher in the middle. The door is closed. Whoever let him in, has a plan. That much he is sure of.

Morgan carefully moves forward towards the door when he hears a faint hissing. He sways his flashlight that captures billows of some kind of smoke, filling up the room. The smoke is burning in his eyes; he can't see the door anymore but finds it, anyway, save that it is locked. Time is running out. Morgan's lungs are aching for air until he can't fight it anymore and breathes in.

Flashlight and gun fall on the floor as he collapses.

* * *

It is the only room in the old building that is contemporarily furnished, including several computers and high-tech surveillance equipment. The man smiles satisfied. It was almost too easy. He always mocked his mentor regarding his obsession to turn this building into a fortress with steel doors and all sorts of traps for unwelcome intruders, but now it pays off.

She managed to slip out of the room, but there is nowhere to go; he can take care of her later, make her confess. First he has to take care of the man he immediately recognized as one of the agents. He looks around. His operations center is stuffed with technical equipment but also chemical drugs like the one he used to submit Emily Prentiss. He adjusted the dose wrong; that's why she was unconscious for so long, but he won't make that mistake again. His mentor loved to experiment with chemical drugs. Interesting how a drug can have totally different effects on the human body depending on its dose – from narcotic to compulsive aggressiveness. He pauses to think. Maybe he should deviate from his original plan and use the agent to punish her. His fingers close around a syringe. Yes, this might be even more fun.

* * *

Emily stumbles through the hallway, still feeling a little dizzy. The water she drank helped, but her body is weakened by the aftereffects of the drug and the lack of food. She realizes she is walking back to the room she woke up in. There is nowhere else to go though; all the doors are closed. And maybe she overlooked something in that room that could be helpful. _Keep moving_, she tells herself. _If you stop moving, you're as good as dead._

A door at the end of the hallway opens, a man coming out of a dark room. Emily freezes. It has to be the man that captured her. Then she recognizes build and face even though he is quite far away. It's Derek Morgan save that he is moving in a weird way as if he was drugged or… She flinches when Morgan starts yelling all of a sudden, kicking and hitting the walls as he comes closer.

Morgan doesn't know what is going on. All he knows is that he has never felt such rage in his entire life. He has always liked all things physical – workout, chasing suspects, building stuff. His main goal has always been, though, to use his physicality for something good, to make the world a better place. Right now, all he can think of is that he wants to destroy whatever comes his way.

He doesn't know that he was injected with a drug that causes this behavior while he briefly was unconscious, doesn't register he still has his gun. But his need to destroy flares when he sees the figure at the end of the hallway half stumbling, half running towards him.

"Morgan?" It's a woman, calling his name.

Somewhere deep inside the awareness flickers that he knows her but is soon replaced by the realization that this is better than hitting walls, much better. Living prey.

* * *

"Are you sure?" JJ asks.

"Do you have a better idea? No…," Hotch stops her when she opens the door and wants to get in the car. "I will do this alone. If it works, we'll go in together. If it doesn't work..."

JJ steps back, nodding. "Ok." She is not afraid to take the risk, but he is right. If he fails, at least she won't be injured and able to defend them. Their backup will be there soon, but right now soon is too late. They are on their own.

A criminal that obsessed makes no mistakes. They checked another time after Morgan had been trapped inside, but there was no way in. Until Hotch detected a spot at the wall where the brick looked ramshackle, that is.

"Ready?" Hotch asks.

"Ready," JJ confirms.

He floors the gas pedal, the car accelerating quickly until it collides head-on with the wall right where Hotch detected the ramshackle bricks. The crash is deafening. So much for the element of surprise. There is a huge hole where the wall used to be though. Their way in.

* * *

There was a crash somewhere; Emily even felt it as the old building groaned due to some kind of impact. She has no time to find out what it is, however, because Morgan is coming closer, and as much as she was excited to see him, something is definitely wrong with him. She ran towards him but stopped when he waved at her awkwardly. He is still hitting the walls, panting loudly.

They are not that far apart anymore. Morgan is half bend over, the gun in his hand shaking as if he is fighting it, trying to tell her something she doesn't understand at first.

"Run," he hisses. "He gave me something. I can't..."

Morgan raises his hand with the gun, turning around abruptly, away from her, only to turn back again, pointing the gun at her. Emily witnesses as he fights against himself and fails, the effect of the drug stronger than his willpower.

There is nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. Even if she turns around and runs, the bullet of the gun won't miss her. This is it. She will die.

Although Emily's mind has accepted that the situation is hopeless, her survival instinct makes her turn around and run, anyway. The first shot misses her but only by millimeters, hitting the wall next to her instead, splintered plaster brushing her face. There is yelling behind her. A voice she knows only too well. She stops and looks back.

Emily watches as Hotch calls out for Morgan. Apparently he saw him shoot at her and is as clueless regarding what is going on as she is. Her best guess is that Morgan must be drugged. Another shot misses her, again only by millimeters. If it wasn't for the influence of the drug, she would be dead by now. Morgan's untamable rage that is the reason why he wants to kill her also makes it harder for him to aim.

More yelling. Only now Emily realizes that JJ is also there, also trying to get through to Morgan. When he raises his gun again to shoot at her another time, Hotch aims at his shoulder and shoots first. Morgan goes down. Emily isn't sure, but it looked as if he moved last minute and the bullet hit him in the chest instead.

JJ rushes over to Morgan as Hotch approaches her. Emily wants to come his way but another wave of dizziness makes her tumble, something blurring her vision. She touches her face and her hand comes back red. Emily reaches out for Hotch, sees his worried face, his lips mouthing her name. Then the world tips over, the floor coming close much too fast until she feels his arms catching her.

"Emily?"

She wants to answer if only to assure him she's fine, but the words won't come as she drifts into oblivion.

* * *

_To be continued_

One more chapter...


	13. Epilogue

**A/N: **Thanks again for the lovely reviews, guys. It bears repeating! So this is it, the last chapter. Timeline-wise the first chapter (Prologue) takes place between the previous and this one. So we've come full circle. I was looking for a way to tie up the loose ends and at the same time have some kind of calm and quiet ending as a contrast to the more action packed chapters before and I hope it worked out.

**The usual disclaimer applies.**

* * *

_Epilogue_

* * *

**One month later**

Hotch consults his watch. She's late. Only ten minutes but considering everything that happened, it's enough to make him nervous. His finger is hovering over the display; he aches to call her just to hear her voice tell him everything's fine, but he tries to resist. They are together, skipped the whole dating part and went right from their one-night-stand to something they have never named explicitly but both are certain what it is. Emily wouldn't appreciate him controlling every minute of her life, though, only or even because he feels the need to keep her safe. _Give her five more minutes_, Hotch makes a deal with himself. _Then you can call her if she's still not there. _He knows she had a business appointment somewhere in town, is probably stuck in a traffic jam.

His phone rings. It's not Emily as he has hoped but Rossi.

"Hey, Dave," Hotch answers it.

"Were you expecting someone else's call?"

It's futile to argue with another profiler that cannot only read faces but apparently also his voice.

"I'm waiting for Emily." Hotch makes a pause. "She's late. Only 10 minutes. Well..." He consults his watch again. "...12 by now, but I know it's not much and probably nothing."

"You can't put her in a cage, Hotch," his friend's voice is gentle, understanding.

Dave Rossi knows Hotch's history. The fact that he lost his first wife to a psychopath and Emily almost to another will always tarnish their relationship in one way or the other. You can never really get past something like that.

"I know," Hotch agrees.

"So… I wanted to invite you two to dinner. I'm having the team over next weekend and thought you could join us."

"That would be great. What's the occasion?"

"A new recipe I want to try out. I need volunteers."

"I'm always happy to help you out," Hotch laughs, Emily's delay forgotten for a moment. "I'll have to check with Emily but if she's free, I'm sure she'd love to come, too."

What started out as a work-related alliance is slowly turning into friendship. Emily already met with JJ and Garcia for lunch and Hotch knows she likes Morgan, Dave and Reid as well. Thank God Derek could be resuscitated after his heart had stopped beating because the bullet had hit him in the chest instead of the shoulder as Hotch had intended. As to his son, he and Emily concur with each other that they want to take it slow, but the way things are progressing, Hotch already thinks about the best scenario how to introduce Emily to Jack. He loves her, his friends love her, and his son will love her, too.

"Everything will be fine," Dave assures him, returning to the topic at the beginning of his call.

"Yes, it will," Hotch says, having spotted Emily among the crowd.

"She's there."

Dave read his mind or rather his voice again. Obviously it's very easy to see through him when it comes to her.

"Yes, she is."

"Say hi from me and don't forget about the invitation."

"I will and I won't."

Hotch hangs up, watching Emily approach him. Their meeting place is a café near her office. They both had already preferred to take a coffee break there now and then before they met and now it has become their romantic hideaway from everyday life with its small tables and narrow booths that allow them to sit side by side very closely

A young woman with a toddler passes by. In fact, she looks more like a teenager and for a moment Hotch is reminded of the trigger that had started the chain of events that almost cost Emily her life. By now they know that the fifteen-year-old granddaughter of the old priest had an abortion. Aside from the fact that it went against his beliefs, it must have reminded him of the scenario decades ago when he had cursed Emily for doing the same thing save that this time he snapped completely.

Hotch feels his muscles ache like a phantom pain as this thought leads to another and he remembers the condition he was in when he woke up from the injection the police officers had given him. The last act of a drama orchestrated by the Vatican. Apparently they have their eyes and ears everywhere. To this day neither Hotch nor the BAU team know how they learned they had found the rogue priest and his hiding place. Local police were not supposed to be on site, let alone to intervene until two police officers were bribed and did exactly that. It was a rather messy plan though. By mistake they assumed only Hotch had been there to free Emily. The injection was supposed to muddle Hotch so that he wouldn't be a credible witness and the reputation of the church wouldn't be sullied. Not only the old priest and his student liked to use chemical substances. When Rossi walked in on them, his instinct told him to play along. With due regard to his profiling skills it didn't take him long to realize that the two local police officers involved weren't a real threat though. As soon as he whipped his credentials out and read them their Miranda rights, they admitted everything. After Dave had reported them there was an investigation and they were laid off. In the end everyone just wanted things to be over because of the involvement of the Vatican and the highly political nature of the situation.

"Hi." Emily kisses him, jolting him out of his thoughts. It's what couples do, and yet, Hotch can't help but feel a hint of pride at her public display of affection that shows everyone she belongs to him.

"Greetings from Dave," he tells her as they go inside, heading for their favorite booth.

"Thanks."

They sit down. These encounters, as brief as they sometimes are, are their escape from the world's everyday madness. They relax and talk and just have a good time together, but not today. Something is going on. Emily's expression as well as posture are tense.

"Didn't it go well?"

"Um... what?" she asks distracted.

"Your meeting. Was there a problem?"

"My meeting… um… no, no, it was good. Very good, actually." She smiles faintly before she gets serious again.

It's not anger, Hotch decides, but rather a mix of sadness and confusion.

"Emily, what's going on?"

There is a scar on her temple from the plaster that hit her face when Morgan tried to kill her and the bullet stroke the wall instead. She covers it with make up so that it's almost invisible, but Hotch knows the exact spot where it is. It's the spot she keeps touching now absent-mindedly.

"I'm late because Clyde called me," she tells him, searching for the right words. "I don't know how to say this because I can't believe it, but... Ian killed him. The priest's pupil, the guy who took me."

Hotch is speechless. They didn't even know what he looked like, let alone where he was. In the chaos that had followed Morgan's shooting, he had managed to escape. "How did Doyle find him? How does Clyde know about it? And how can we even be sure that it's true? That he actually killed him?"

Emily shrugs; she can't get her head around the news as well. "I… Clyde knows because he has reliable sources who told him. Hotch..." she looks him straight in the eye. "Ian… he wanted me to know. He practically delivered the message to Clyde through his sources so that he could tell me."

"Do you think it's true?"

She clenches her teeth. "Yes. Ian is a lot of things, but he is no liar."

"Why would he do that?"

"Either to protect me or to let me know he won't tolerate any rivals when it comes to threatening my life. That this is supposed to be his exclusive métier."

"And which one do you think it is?"

She takes a deep breath. "I can't say. I really can't."

Emily's former relationship with Doyle, even if she was undercover, wasn't faked, at least not anymore once they had crossed the point of return. From what Hotch knows about it, and he is certain he doesn't even remotely know everything, Hotch considers it very well possible that Ian Doyle – as much as he hates Emily for betraying him – still loves her and wants to protect her. That he killed out of love and won't harm her. Then again, maybe Doyle is watching them at that very moment, waiting for his chance to take revenge. Maybe living in peace, being safe is a concept not meant for them.

Right here and now, though, Hotch knows that he is happy for the first time in a long while, and that whatever it takes, he won't let anyone take this happiness away from him again. He grabs her hand.

"Can you take the rest of the day off? I have to pick Jack up from school in an hour. Why don't you come with me so that you can meet him?"

She raises an eyebrow. "What about taking it slow?"

"Why wait when I know what I want?"

Emily ponders over it. They haven't talked about their future, about moving in together or even more. Love confessions are mumbled words in the aftermath of their passion for now. Hotch almost wants to tell her that it is to soon that she should forget about it when she smiles at him in a way that is a yes, fetching her phone, probably to call her assistant to cancel her appointments in the afternoon.

"So you know what you want, huh?" Emily casually asks as she is waiting for her assistant to answer the call, looking him over, her expression dare and promise at the same time. There are so many things he still doesn't know about her and he can't wait to find out. "Good to know."

* * *

_The End_

I'm aware that it's an open ending regarding the Ian Doyle situation and that this is not everyone's cup of tea, but I liked the ambiguity of it, the contrast between their happiness and a possible threat for it that might or might not be out there because – let's face it – there will always be some crazy psychopath threatening Emily's or Hotch's life.

– **Thank you so much for reading, reviewing and your support despite my fickle muse! – **


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